Inbetween the Lines
by narciscia
Summary: Missing scenes from the Skin Deep episode.
1. Chapter 1: The Garden

**Rating**: K+

**Spoilers**: Skin Deep

**Summary**: Missing scenes from the Skin Deep episode. 10 chapters - complete. One will be posted each day morning.

**In-between the Lines**

**The Garden**

_(Set a week after the curtain scene)_

Since the curtains had been pulled down, Belle spent a lot of her time looking out of the windows. Sometimes she asked him questions about the countryside or the mountains. Rumplestiltskin found her pining distracting as he tried to spin. He turned the wheel and tried to ignore how she leant against the window and gazed out at freedom. He rather wanted the curtains back up – but would never be so cruel as to do such a thing. Besides he was growing accustomed to the light and she did look so lovely bathed in sunshine.

"What's that bird called?" she asked as he gently teased the gold thread through his fingers as the wheel gently turned.

He glanced up; she had her finger pressed against the window pane, pointing at a tiny, powder blue bird. "A bird," he said dryly.

"What type?"

"One that flies," he quipped, then giggled manically.

She chuckled at his joke and watched the bird skip along the grass. "It's pretty. Bright blue."

Rumplestiltskin glanced up. "Like your dress," he said, eyeing the soft, light blue fabric that complimented her eyes so perfectly.

"Yes," she grinned. "What type of bird?"

"It's a Blue Bilbit", he conceded. When she smiled softly at the tiny bird he added wickedly, "They eat their young."

She gasped. "They do not!"

"No, you're right, they don't," he giggled.

She shook her head at him and chuckled. "You're lucky to have such a glorious garden. Nature is so pretty."

"Have you ever seen a troll, dearie?" he quipped.

Pointedly, Belle replied, "Everything is beautiful in its own way."

He looked away from her then and continued spinning. He tried to ignore her but when she started making a noise he sighed and looked up. She was trying to push the window open.

"The windows are nailed shut," he said.

"You and nails, hmmm?" she shook her head. "Why would you nail them down?"

"So they can't open," he retorted.

"Well that's a shame, its lovely outside. You should let the outdoors in."

"No," he drawled; his accent thick, "the outside belongs outside and the inside belongs inside. Never the twain shall meet."

She frowned at him and unexpectedly he felt his stomach clench. She was disappointed. He licked his lips and searched for words. "You like the outdoors?"

"I like gardens and flowers," she said. Sensing her chance she walked away from the window and stood close to the spinning wheel, so close he could see the fine stitching at the seams of her dress where her bodice gave way to lace around her…

"Maybe we could walk outside?"

He sucked in a breath and felt his blood heat – she wanted to leave.

"I just want to see the garden," she added quickly. "You could give me a tour and then we can come back for tea?"

Slowly his heart stopped thudding and rationality returned. A tour and back for tea. _Back_ being the operative word.

"Come along then," he said with false cheer.

She beamed. "Really?"

He smothered a giddy smile and nodded. "For an hour mind, I'm busy."

"Yes, yes, that's fine."

He led them out of the front door and once she was over the threshold she skipped down the steps and hurried into the beaming sunlight.

He studied her like she was the finest of paintings. Chestnut hair and pale, soft skin. Her eyes were bluer in the daylight and her lips redder. No mortal should be as beautiful as her.

He knew she belonged outside in the daylight, awash with sunlight and surrounded by nature; but he was a selfish man and he wanted to possess her more than he wanted her to be free.

"So," he said clearing his throat, "this is the garden." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand and added, "Flowers, trees, … snails. All rather uneventful."

"It's splendid," she breathed.

She walked a few paces ahead and the more she enjoyed the garden the graver he became. He was torn between enjoying her pleasure and feeling uncharacteristic guilt over her imprisonment from that which she so keenly loved. Maliciously, he crushed snails as he walked. Yet when she turned and smiled back at him his dark thoughts were smothered somewhat and he felt himself smile back weakly.

Feeling more comfortable, he took her around the flower beds and pointed out medicinal plants and named the flowers she deemed 'pretty'. He took her around the orchard and let her take a green apple from one of the low hanging branches. He made a comment about coming back for more another day and she grinned happily at him.

She chattered at him as they walked, he listened to the melody of her voice but paid little heed to her words. He enjoyed her company so thoroughly that just standing in her shadow seemed wonderful. It had been so long since someone had simply talked to him. So long. He found himself yearning for Belle in ways he couldn't articulate or understand. He found himself wanting to embrace her tenderly and just hold her. No, what he really wanted was for her to hold him back. He remembered how she felt in his arms the day she had fallen from the ladder and felt his skin flush.

While he was deep in thought she plucked a daisy out of the loose soil and placed it in her hair.

"How do I look?" she asked.

He thought she looked stunning but merely shrugged in response.

He thought that if they were courting he would take her hand. He might have also made her a crown of flowers. But they weren't courting and she wouldn't want her hand held. Not by him.

"I love gardens," she said. "Every bloom is special, don't you think?"

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "They're just flowers."

She frowned at him and placed her hand gently on the crook of his arm. "Oh but they are more than that! They are life. No matter what happens to us mortals… or immortals," she added giving him a playful look, "life continues. No matter what problems we face, every summer nature rises and the earth endures."

Her words fluttered past his mind, lost to the wind, as he stared at her pale hand against the silk of his shirt. He looked up to catch her staring at him intently. Clearing his throat he brushed the moment aside. "Flowers die."

"But they're born again."

Her audacity and playfully challenging nature were such a mystery to him. He gazed into her vibrant blue eyes as if searching for the answers to her soul.

"Like a phoenix," she added softly.

Her eyes were as blue as the centre of the most brilliant flame and flecked with green and turquoise hues. Her gaze, unlike all others, was free from judgement, fear and disgust. She stared back at him with a gentleness that made his heart crimp in his chest. He couldn't identify the feeling but he knew it of old. She was making him feel again. Feel something.

"Yes," he replied softly, "I suppose it is."

She smiled then and her eyes deepened in colour. He felt he might like to comment on her beauty but the words were not forth coming. As he delayed her brow furrowed slightly and that tiny, unconscious gesture made him pull back from her and stride off down the path.

She didn't understand what was happening between them and neither did he.

"Where are you going?" she called.

"Things to do dearie, things to do. Deals to make and hearts to break."

Knowing she couldn't be outside without him she ran to catch up with him. "Wait!"

"Come alone, come along."

With her trailing behind him like some menial subordinate they re-entered the castle.

"Thank you," she said, breathlessly, "for the tour." Then she smiled; the smile that made his heart burn uncomfortably in his chest. He resisted the urge to rub the spot, knowing he couldn't erase the feelings deep within.

For a moment he resented her beauty and her bewitching nature. Stepping back from her he re-established the wall between them.

The master said to the servant, "You are never to leave the castle without me."

Belle's smile faded and she nodded.

To Rumplestiltskin's dismay the ache in his heart worsened. He turned and walked away from her and those strange, unnamed feelings he didn't want to lament on.

**AN**: Sorry for any errors. I have no beta. Please do feel free to volunteer!


	2. Chapter 2: The Library

**Chapter 2: The Library**

_(set two weeks after the last chapter: The Garden)_

She hummed when she worked. Sometimes she hummed nursery rhymes and he rather wished she wouldn't for it reminded him that she had a family and a life beyond him. She had been a child once and had parents who doted on her. She had friends and a … _betrothed_. Rumplestiltskin mentally snarled at the image of the tall strapping lad and his hands holding Belle away from him. Belle's humming of childhood rhymes reminded him that she wasn't completely his and that she had lived before she had become his _forever_.

"You hum a lot," he said as he sat at the table, drinking his tea from the chipped cup. He deliberately interrupted her. She had started to hum a well-known rhyme about fairies taking children in the night to adventure far off in Neverland.

_Just think of a happy thought and you shall fly, fly, fly…_

But she didn't go to Neverland where innocent was eternal and children never grew up – she came here, to the Dark Castle where innocent was sullied and her childhood naivety lost. Maybe she dreamt of being rescued. He knew she didn't hum because she was happy. She probably didn't have a happy thought any more. She probably dreamt of the Neverland as a place to escape to. To escape from him.

"Oh," she chuckled. "I suppose I do! Do you mind it?"

"It's a little distracting," he said and cringed inwardly as her expression became sombre.

"Sorry, I'll… stop."

The pain in his husk of a heart was back and it bloomed into an inferno. The heartache now extended to his stomach and ate away at his intestines. He fumed at his body's betrayal.

"No," he said then stilled, trying to find the perfect words. "I wonder if you are bored."

"Bored?"

"You hum because you are bored?"

She tilted her head and smiled softly. "No, I hum because I'm happy."

Lie. It was a lie. He shook his head and twisted his hands in his lap. She was lying. She was lying and telling him what he wanted to hear. She couldn't be happy here. She was a beautiful bird caught in the cruellest of cages.

"You're happy?" he repeated incredulously, then giggled wildly.

He meant to mock her but she remained smiling. "Well I'm not unhappy," she said, holding her ground.

"I don't believe that dearie."

"Then that's a shame," she said, "for I am contented here."

"How?"

"How?" she repeated, her eyebrows rising. "Well, I suppose I'm happy that the castle is more homely than I thought it would be and you are kinder than I dared hope."

"You have an interesting perspective on kindness," he said dryly.

"You are kind."

Lies. He was growing weary of them. She was either lying or delusional. He scoffed.

"Now," she said, pointing her feathered duster at him, "what's that look for, hmmm?" She stepped closer to where he sat and leant against the table. "You doubt me?"

He peered up at her. "You are strange."

She ducked her head in embarrassment and nodded slightly. "You're not the first to claim that," she said.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Gaston... my betrothed… he always thought it was so strange that I read so much," she shrugged her shoulders delicately.

When Rumpleskiltskin's expression darkened Belle hurried to explain, "Oh he wasn't mean over it. He was more bemused I think. I always hoped that once we married I might be able to ask for a library… as a wedding gift."

"A library," Rumplestiltskin mused aloud. "That's what you want? Books?"

"I like to read."

"It would make you … _happy_?" he pressed, stumbling over the word.

"Oh yes, absolutely."

He stood suddenly, his chair scrapping heavily across the floor. She jumped at his sudden motion but seemed unafraid, just inquisitive. He moved his hand to grasp hers but stopped mid motion. His hand hovered near hers before falling back down to his side. No touching. He reminded himself. Touching was confusing.

"Come with me," he ordered her.

He led her through the castle up to where the West Wing was. The place she never ventured out of respect. "Where are we going?"

"Well it isn't to the dungeon," he quipped, then giggled.

They traipsed down a long corridor and midway down he paused and seemed to uncharacteristically hesitate. "It's …" he looked between the doors then picked one rather confidently, "here."

She gasped as he pushed the double doors open to reveal a large library with a cathedral ceiling.

"Ta da!" he sang then clapped his hands together. "Library. No wedding required."

Her hand flew to her chest as she stared up at the rows and rows of books in awe and delight. He grinned at her reaction and tried to quash the surge of feelings he experienced as she gazed around the room with utter pleasure.

"For you," he said.

"To clean?" she asked, slyly with a twinkle in her eye.

With a click of his fingers the room transformed from dusty and grimy to sparkling and pristine. The curtains parted at the windows allowing streams of sunlight to pour in and the fireplace roared to life.

"Hey, if you can do that, what do you need me for?" she asked in wonder.

"All magic comes with a price, dearie. That little gesture will cost me."

She looked concerned for a moment. "Cost you how?"

He shrugged. "Never can tell, dearie."

"Thank you," she breathed. "Truly."

She stepped forward to embrace him, her arms were outstretched and her body was coming closer. He hopped backwards, away from her and gingerly bounced back a few steps so he was closer to the door. "No matter."

He left her to explore the room while he contended with the butterflies clawing at his gut.

**AN**: I have ten chapters done but am happy to take prompts and will post the prompts before the completed ones. So feel free to prompt me with a scene you wished to see in the show.

Next Chapter takes place earlier in Belle's stay at the Dark Castle and thus is a little angsty. I might post it today as this chapter was a little short. It's strange I have many long chapters and then a few fiddly tiny ones like this :s Oh well. I hope you like it anyway. Please review if you have any feedback.


	3. Chapter 3: The Cost of Choice

**Scipio'sgirl requested**: How about a scene where she is present during a deal?

How about several, my friend? :D hope you like.

Tomorrow I will add the angst scene I was going to do before the prompt.

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Cost of Choice**

_(Starts two weeks after Belle arrives at the Dark Castle)_

The first time Belle witnessed a deal that wasn't in exchange for her eternal presence was one dull Saturday morning a day before the start of the winter season.

The knock on the door sounded two weeks after Belle had joined Rumplestiltskin in his castle and a meagre two days after being given her own room. She had been trying to pound the dust out of the closed curtains. She wished she could take them down but didn't dare ask. Every time she smacked the fabric, pillows of dust clouded the room. Belle knew she looked a state, her hair falling around her face in unchecked waves and her dress patched with grey dust. Yet she wasn't concerned – her master barely looked at her and they never received company – until today.

The knock startled her causing to intake a deep breath of the dust which in turn made her cough and splutter. Unusually, Rumplestiltskin wasn't in the spinning room with her and without his guidance and rules she wasn't sure how to proceed. She looked about her unsure whether she should wait for him or go and answer the door. He hadn't given her directions over the matter. Mostly, Belle didn't want to be rude. So, after carefully rearranging the curtains, she hurried towards the door, fixing her hair on the way and smoothing down her dress.

Just as she reached for the handle a familiar voice spoke darkly from behind her. "You do not have leave to answer the door, or indeed venture beyond it."

She froze then turned around slowly. She tried to smile at his hard features but found herself faltering. "I just … someone's at the door."

"Someone of no importance, who can wait," Rumplestiltskin retorted.

Although she had been raised not to argue, she could never bite her tongue well enough. To her horror she found herself snapping back. "I don't know how important the visitor may or may not be!"

"Well it's not me now is it dearie, and am I not the most important thing here?"

Boldly she raised her eyebrow and then nodded her head demurely. "Of course."

His eyes narrowed slightly at her subtle tone. Trust him to find a mouthy captive.

A thumping sound echoed again. The visitor seemed impatient. Belle watched in fascination as the imp glared hard at the door and then nodded his head thoughtfully. "Madame Mim", he said. "Belle, fetch tea."

Ignoring his beautiful captive as she hurried off to warm the kettle he allowed the doors to spring open to reveal a squat and aging witch with fading purple hair and a deeply wrinkled face.

"If it isn't the marvellous, magnificent, mad, mad, mad, mad, Madame Mim," he sang in greeting.

"What the hell is wrong with your door? You deaf?" she bleated in a screeching voice.

He shrugged. "Busy."

Belle brought the tea tray into the spinning room and attempted to smile at the tiny, plump witch with greying purple hair and a piggish nose. The witch merely stared at her with calculating eyes and a thin, downturned mouth.

While her master and the witch conversed, seemingly in riddles, Belle placed the tray on the table and prepared the tea. She tried not to listen and attempted to recite the lyrics to bardic songs in her head. She placed a cup of hot tea in front of Mim but just as she rested the cup on the table the stout woman jumped to her feet and slammed her podgy fist onto the table in rage. "I want that baby and I want that baby now! A deal is a deal. I have a contract!"

Belle gasped and sprung back from the table as tea sloshed out of the cup and over the table top.

"Mim," Rumplestiltskin replied calmly, "it takes nine months to bake a baby. Unless you want a troll baby – they take twelve. They bite though." He glanced at Belle who was frantically trying to mop up the tea dripping off the table edge, "That's how they are born, dearie, bite their way out…"

Belle scrunched her face up at the image.

"It's been twelve months!" Mim screeched.

Rumplestiltskin waved her ire away with a flippant gesture. "Eleven. I don't believe I specified a delivery date in the contract. Nevertheless, once a baby becomes available you shall have it."

"Technicalities," she fumed, her face turning an ugly red colour.

"A deal is dealt on the technicalities, Mim." He sipped his tea. "Once an unfortunate young woman deals with me I shall request the first born and it shall be yours."

"I want a good one."

"A baby of noble blood?" he mused. "A royal baby in exchange for your continued _patience_."

She slowly sat back down and nodded at his suggestion. "Yes, yesss."

Belle opened and closed her mouth several times, wanting to chastise the pair for bartering over a baby and yet knowing it would do no good. Belle glanced at the witch and wondered what she wanted a baby for… she hardly seemed the mothering type.

Suddenly, to Belle's enormous surprise, the witch twisted her head and directed her purple eyes to Belle's. Slowly the dark orbs floated over Belle's body and the witch smiled cruelly. "How old is that? Childbearing age?"

Belle balked, both at the question and the way it was phrased. Feeling her face flush read in utter embarrassment she looked at her master who stared back at her as if looking at her for the first time. He licked his lips and cast his eyes over her. If he meant for it to be seductive it missed the mark for she shivered and dark thoughts of a 'new' role flittered past her mind in shady, contorted images. "Eighteen?" he said eventually.

Belle breathed a sigh of relief – he was trying to age her.

To Belle's alarm the witch nodded. "I'll wait for her," the witch said. "She was a princess, no?"

Again, Belle's master seemed to shrug as if he didn't know. Belle wondered what he _did_ in fact know about her.

"Waiting for her to wed and spawn make will take more than twelve months, Mim. Basic mathematics. Would you like an abacus?"

"She's your wife isn't she," the witch scoffed. "Pretty bit like that. How long can it take?"

Rather than appear embarrassed the imp giggled. "It will take longer than you think."

"I'm not his wife," Belle quickly interjected but shrank back slightly when her master's face became instantly enraged. It was the first time she had seen that look directed at her. Cold, void eyes glared at her. "Leave."

She wasn't about to apologise for being discussed like a sack of meat so bowed her head slightly offering a faint hint of respect before leaving the room.

As Belle hurried to her bedroom she tried not to think of the babies, of the desperate women who would give them up and the fate that awaited them. Later she hoped to discuss the issue with her master – to ask after the babies – but for the next four days he ignored her.

Over those four days she tried to work out how she had so gravely offended him but couldn't get to the bottom of the matter.

* * *

The next dealer came a week later on a Tuesday.

This time the visitor was a man who was in love with a mermaid. He wanted to marry the girl and have her be human.

Her master played with the nervous prince; suggesting he instead turned the prince into a merman.

Belle watched the exchange feeling quite uncomfortable as the prince sweated and offered all manner of trinkets and prizes for his mermaid's human form.

"Why not join her under the sea?" the imp sang. He glanced at Belle who sat on the floor near the fire sewing golden buttons onto his silk shirts. To Belle he wiggled his fingers playfully, "The sea with the fishes, the corals and all the little urchins." Then his gaze darkened and he quipped at the prince, "Sharks, whales and giant squids."

"I wish for Ariel to be human," the prince said firmly.

"Hmmm," Rumplestiltskin mused, narrowing his eyes. "I'm sure you do. Hankering after the legs and the whatnot…" he tone drifted off suggestively. Belle shook her head at the innuendo but the prince became enraged.

"I just want to live with the woman I love!"

"Then live in the sea…" he giggled.

"I want her to be human."

"I know, dearie. Love, it seems, is so often to be found in between legs rather than in something more profound such as a genuine connection. So, so, so predictable."

"You're objectifying my true love!" the prince blustered.

Rumplestiltskin pressed a hand to his chest and looked wounded. "Oh really? Isn't it you, boy, who sits here pleading for legs rather than happiness?" The imp, by magic, plucked a small vial out of the air and held it in front of the prince. "This potion will allow you to be with your lady. Drink it on the full moon. Beware dearie, you must _both_ drink it."

The prince accepted the vial then peered at the imp. "This will make her human?"

"Well," Rumplestiltskin snickered. "That's the question, dearie. Will it make you a mer-man or her a hu-man? Can't remember. I believe," he added cruelly, "it's a test of love. If you love her, truly, you will be happy whatever the eventuality."

Belle paused mid stitch and nodded her head delicately. It seemed … fair.

Later, after the prince had left, Belle asked Rumplestiltskin what the potion actually did.

The imp's eyes twinkled and, resting his head on his hand, asked Belle, "What do you predict, dearie?"

"I think he should love her no matter what form she is in," she said rather neutrally.

"Don't you think it's a little _unrealistic_?" he giggled waving his hand in the air in an exaggerated gesture.

Pressing the needle gently through the silk shirt she held and securing the last golden button, she smiled softly to herself. "Perhaps I am unrealistic then."

* * *

The next visitor came at night two days later. Belle awoke to a commotion at the door, the sound of many male voices and the loud curses of her master. Grabbing her silk robe and tying it tightly around her nightgown she hurried, bare footed, down the stairs and into the spinning room.

Belle abruptly halted as she entered a room filled with soldiers and the imposing form of a king wearing a jewel encrusted crown.

Feeling ridiculously naked Belle tried to sneak backwards out of the room. To her horror she was spied by her master. "You've woken my …" he paused looking for a name for her and she prayed to whatever deity there might be he wouldn't select 'pet' as a designation. "Belle," he finished, tasting her name with interest. To the king he teased, "Naughty, coming in the night when the innocents and babes are sleeping."

To the king's credit he bowed slightly at Belle and apologised. "Forgive my intrusion, lady Belle. I come on most urgent business."

"It's always urgent," Rumplestiltskin sneered. "Is it not always urgent to come to me?"

"Devil," the king spat, "I am here to make a deal."

"Obviously…" the imp drawled, dragging out the word.

"We are at war…" the king started but trailed off as Rumplestiltskin sighed.

"Always war, you people. Boring," he sang.

"I'm sorry you find it boring, demon. We wish for weapons to fight the ogres that have appeared in our lands by _your_ magic."

Belle, who had shuffled away from the door and into the shadows at the corner of the room, listened carefully, feeling a sense of dread wash over her.

"I hear that you sent the ogres to us. Unprovoked!"

Rumplestiltskin pretended to be contrite but Belle saw the mirth in his eyes and didn't buy it for a moment. "I didn't know where else to put them. If it helps the location was a random selection."

Belle cringed; the ogres invading the king's lands were surely the ogres her master had dispatched from hers.

"In exchange for weapons," he king continued. "We will give you the most beautiful maiden in our kingdom. The exchange is fair and matches your previous deal."

Rumplestiltskin frowned, his brow deeply lined and his eyes honestly confused. "What would I want with a girl?"

"You…" the king started, "you took one in the last deal."

Rumplestiltskin still looked blank and the King fumed and pointed to Belle who was half swallowed by shadows. "HER!"

"Oh, Belle," the imp said. "That's different."

The king looked at his men in exasperation. "How is it different?" he shouted.

Rumplestiltskin pointed a black fingernail at Belle and said, "I wanted _her_." Then he pointed at the king, "_You_ don't have anything I want."

Changing tactics the King blurted, "We have gold…"

"Belle," Rumplestiltskin called, "tell the King about the gold."

"He makes gold," she said, echoing his words from weeks ago.

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "See."

"We have riches and jewels and…"

"Annnnnnnnd," the imp drawled, "not interested."

"What do you want, fiend? Tell us your requirements, beast!"

With a flick of his hand the collection of soldiers and their king flew backwards, out of the room, along the corridor and out of the front door to sprawl in the flower beds near the distant gate.

Shocked, Belle said to her master, "You didn't deal?"

"He had nothing I wanted…" the imp said lowly.

As Belle lay in bed that night she wondered if it was the insults that had so damaged the king's cause.

* * *

Three days later Belle was throwing logs on the fire and poking at the glowing embers when a knock sounded on the door.

Belle looked over at her master who was slowly spinning the plainest of straw into shimmering gold thread. He didn't bother to pause.

"The door," she said.

"The door," he repeated.

Belle chuckled. "There's someone at the door."

"Is there?" he smiled as he spun.

"I believe so…" she said as another knock sounded.

"Ah."

The wheel turned for three complete revolutions before Belle cleared her throat and gently reminded, "The door…"

A knock sounded again and this time he said, "Go answer it then."

It was a new trust and Belle accepted it happily as she practically jogged to the front door.

As she reached the double doors they slowly opened to reveal a figure Belle didn't expect. Rather than be faced with a hideous witch, a troop of soldiers or a desperate prince she was instead presented with the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Standing in the winter's sunlight she was taller than Belle with an aura of pure grace and elegance. Her skin was perfect, without a single flaw and was perfectly smooth as if time dared not age her. Long blonde hair flowed down her back to her waist and Belle saw that the woman's lips were dusted red and her cheeks were lightly flushed pink. She truly was a beauty.

"Hello, girl," she said softly. Even her tone was somehow melodic and captivating. Belle smiled back. "Hello."

Next to the woman Belle felt drab and out of place for the woman wore a fire silk dress and a heavily jewelled choker which lined her neck.

"What's your name girl?" she asked as her vibrant green eyes passed over Belle's form appraisingly.

"Belle."

"I'm Princess Mombi," the woman introduced herself.

Belle stepped back from the door and quickly said, "Please come in."

Struggling not to stare at the stunning princess, Belle led her towards the spinning room.

Just before they reached the doors to the spinning room the princess stopped Belle by gently taking her hand. Belle glanced from her hand to the princess's serene face questioningly. Shielded by the closed doors the princess lowered her voice and spoke softly, "You're very pretty, do you realise that? Such a beautiful face..." To Belle's surprise the princess reached out and caressed her face with the soft pads of her fingertips. Belle held her breath as the woman's fingers trailed over her cheek, over her jaw and then brushed at the delicate skin of her neck.

Before Belle could formulate a reply to the woman, the spinning room doors flew open and Rumplestiltskin stood in the doorway watching the scene with dark eyes. As a way of greeting he said, "She's not for sale, Mombi. I've only just got her."

Belle gaped at her master, embarrassed and confused. Then to her greater surprise Mombi released her hand and brushed past Rumplestiltskin. She strode over to the fire Belle had recently tended to and warmed her hands.

"Everything is for sale – at a price," the princess said. "I want her; in exchange for the heart of Liani."

Belle trailed into the room behind Rumplestiltskin hardly comprehending what was transpiring. Belle felt her heart start to hammer in her chest. The notion of being sold again was harrowing. Even if the woman was as nice as she appeared to be, Belle had started to feel comfortable in the Dark Castle.

"She's not for sale. She's part of my collection," the imp replied firmly. "Besides we have an existing arrangement".

The princess turned to Belle and said softly, "Girl, maybe it is up to you to deal? Hmmm? If you agree to come with me you shall live in the grandest of castles and wear the finest of dresses and be surrounded by beauty. In exchange I give your master here the precious and powerful heart of Liani, a trinket so much more valuable than a maid…"

Belle glanced at Rumplestiltskin who stared back at her steadily. Without looking at Mombi he said, "My caretaker is not for sale, for any price."

"Why not let the girl answer?" Mombi returned.

"It doesn't make any difference, she is my property," the imp snapped back. For once he wasn't playful or calm; he was fuming and thrumming with annoyance.

"Girl," Mombi said, ignoring Rumplestiltskin, "wouldn't you like to live in a kingdom where you are adored and men worship you?"

"It makes no difference Mombi, we have a deal," he screeched then, stepping forward and grasping Belle by the arm to forcefully drag her away. Belle winced slightly at his firm hold on her arm and the way his grip pinched her skin. For a moment Belle experienced a queer case of déjà vu - of Gaston doing the same thing when Rumplestiltskin came calling.

Rumplestiltskin pushed her behind him and towards the door. "Go and clean, dearie" he said to her, giving her a gentle nudge.

"Wait," Mombi called, "I just want to know what her answer would have been."

Belle paused before the door and looked over her angry master and the stunning princess. In that moment Belle picked up on numerous signs; her master's fingers that twitched by his sides with impending rage; Mombi's impossible promises; and an undefinable sense of dread.

"I wish to stay here," she said to her owner's visible relief.

Mombi took the loss better than expected, merely smiling and conceding defeat. "Alas, you would have been Tuesday."

Before Belle could question the strange statement, Mombi had turned to Rumplestiltskin and sighed. "Show me the soulstone then, we shall honour the original agreement."

Taking her leave, Belle slipped out the door and winced when the doors slammed shut behind her.

Sometime later, after Mombi had left, Rumplestiltskin was spinning at the wheel as Belle at on the floor polishing his collection.

"Thank you for not selling me," she joked but her wavering voice revealed her previous concern.

He shrugged and said nothing.

After a few seconds Belle asked, "What did Mombi want me for?"

Rumplestiltskin paused at the wheel only briefly before replying. "For Tuesday, it seems. Quite an honour really," he murmured, fingering the gold strands.

"What does that mean?"

"Ah," Rumplestiltskin breathed, glancing up at Belle, "Mombi is a collector of beautiful girls."

Hardly daring to ask Belle said, "What does she want with them?"

"Their heads."

Instantly Belle's hand flew to her throat. "What does she do with the heads?"

"Wears them," he said then giggled manically. "One head for every day off the week. Today is a Thursday so she is wearing the head of Baroness Cynthia of Westeryelm."

Belle thought back to the beautiful Mombi and was reminded of the ornate choker that lined her neck. A choker that no doubt concealed the diving line between the neck and head. "Well," Belle stammered, "Thank you for not selling my head."

"No matter," he stared at her for a long moment. "Your head is perhaps too beautiful for Mombi. She would wear it too often. You would become Monday through Friday and then where would we be? All the other heads would get jealous."

* * *

As the weeks ticked by, Belle found that Rumplestiltskin's deals came in many forms from cruel to generous. Sometimes the deals were tamer than she expected and his requests seemed reasonably mundane. On one occasion he asked for a rare plant in exchange for a phoenix feather. Furthermore, to Belle's surprise the imp frequently dished out advice to those he refused to help. A prince from Landea wanted to make a village girl fall in love with him but Rumplestiltskin told him firmly that no magic could ever manufacture true love for true love was more powerful than any magic and impossible to influence. When the prince demanded a simple love potion Rumplestiltskin warned him that any affection produced by a potion would feel empty and unsatisfying. Love, like death, he warned, was beyond magical powers and should be avoided.

Of course, he wasn't always pleasant. Sometimes he cared nothing for the peril of the visitor. When a woman from the valley came to ask for the means to 'dispatch' her drunkard husband yet had nothing more to offer than grain, Rumplestiltskin told her that if he were married to her, he would drink too.

Belle was constantly surprised by what people asked for and what people were prepared to bargain with.

She was also surprised by the problems princesses (especially princesses) seemed to land themselves in.

One evening while Belle was playing cat's cradle by the fire with some spun gold Rumplestiltskin had given her, the doors flew upon and a wet and distraught princess came tumbling in. The girl was a bubbling mess, sobbing too hard to catch her breath and dripping water all over Belle's nearly mopped floor. While Belle jumped up to comfort the hysterical woman, Rumplestiltskin eyed her thoughtfully. While Belle saw distress, he saw a deal to be made.

Rumplestiltskin clearly recognised the girl and laughed. "It's been three months, are you so unhappy with your husband?" he teased. "Was it not everything you hoped? Is it not glorious to be so…" he paused and quoted '"magnificently rich and powerful."'

The girl pushed away from Belle who was trying to rub warmth into her shoulders and sush her tears.

The girl hurried to Rumplestiltskin and fell to her knees. "Oh please, please, I … he's a monster."

Rumplestiltskin glanced up at Belle with a knowing smirk. "Another monster and a beautiful maiden. There seems to be a pattern in this world, does there not?"

He could see by her expression that she wanted to renounce the 'monster' title, but she was too concerned about the girl to play his games.

"Are you ok?" Belle asked the girl who seemed to bow at Rumplestiltskin's feet.

The girl, still kneeling on the floor, cried anew and looked up at Belle. "My husband is a fiend! He is a murderer and a fiend. An absolute fiend."

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. "A fiend you say? Oh dear."

"You," she screamed from her position on the floor, "you knew. You sent me to my death."

"You," he snarled, "sent yourself there you silly, vain girl. Give me power, you said, give me wealth, you said, give me a powerful husband who can strike fear into any heart, you said. Well – you have it!"

Seeing an ally in Belle the girl turned her tear stained face to the caretaker. "My husband has twelve wives…". For a moment Belle thought it was jealously that had brought the girl to the Dark Castle until she continued with a shocking detail, "…cut into pieces, hanging in a bloody chamber at the top of our castle."

Even Rumplestiltskin hadn't seen that titbit coming judging from the way his eyebrows raised and he leant forward with interest.

"Twelve wives," he mused. "Your husband seems to be an overachiever."

Belle grimaced at his flippant tone. "Twelve dead wives," she corrected.

"He's murdered them! I'm next," the girl screeched, desperately. From her pocket the girl's trembling fingers withdrew a key stained brilliant red. "When my husband gave me this key it was ivory white. He told me it opened the chamber at the top of the castle and I was to look after it. He said I must never open the door to the chamber and if I did he would know…"

Rumplestiltskin eyed the key. "And you went and opened the door?" he deduced.

"I wanted to know what was inside."

"Curiosity and cats – dangerous combination."

To Belle's morbid amusement the girl hiccupped and asked, "What cat? There were no cats…"

Exasperated, Rumplestiltskin waved at her to continue. "_So_ you opened the door…"

"And there were all these women, bloody and hanging. I was so shocked I dropped the key and it fell into the blood and…" she held the red key up, "I can't get the red off it."

"Well no," the imp stated. "It's magic. Whether you dropped it or not wouldn't have made a difference, the moment you opened the door the key would register your deceit."

"My husband is away – he has sailed to a far away land – but he will be back within the week and when he sees the key he will know of my betrayal and will surely butcher me!"

Rumplestiltskin merely nodded – yes, her husband would kill her; there was a precedent after all. Twelve of them. "So you wish to deal, dearie?"

"Yes. I wish for the key to be made clean again," she declared.

Just as Rumplestiltskin was about to finalise the agreement he noticed Belle fidgeting. He watched as she opened her mouth to speak and then abruptly shut it. To Rumplestiltskin's annoyance Belle hovered near the girl and seemed desperate to speak yet dallied around the issue like an irritating wasp. When Belle opened her mouth and shut it again Rumplestiltskin snapped, "Oh just speak!"

Belle gaped at him in shock. Rumplestiltskin made a gesture with his hand impatiently. "Just say what it is your mind is fretting over and be done with it."

Taking the chance Belle looked down at the girl and said bravely, "It strikes me that perhaps you aren't making the best … deal…".

Rumplestiltskin found her interjection incredibly bemusing. The girl was extraordinarily brave – or extraordinarily suicidal.

The whimpering harpy at his feet suddenly clutched Bells' dress. "Oh what is it I should do?" she wailed.

Rumplestiltskin glared at the crying woman – was there no decorum anymore? As mouthy and interfering as Belle was, at least she was strong and intelligent.

Belle glanced at her master and asked hesitantly, "Can I suggest to her something?"

Intrigued more than annoyed, the imp nodded and watched the scene with fascination. When Belle finally spoke he felt an odd stirring of pride for her.

"It's not the key you want cleaned," Belle said, "your problem is your husband not your misadventure."

Belle was right, Rumplestiltskin knew. She gave the girl the same advice he would have – if he cared. Which he didn't.

Yet the girl proved as idiotic as Rumplestiltskin assumed she would be and only continued to argue and cry. "But the key, he will see blood upon it and slaughter me like the others."

"And you trust him not to kill you anyway? The bloody chamber aside, your husband is a dangerous man who has a habit of butchering his wives. Is it not wiser to make a deal to rid you of the man rather than the key?"

Rumplestiltskin waited for sense to find the girl and when she suddenly gasped and shouted "Yes! You're right" he rolled his eyes. Idiot.

Looking hard at Belle he said, "You do realise I could have got another deal out of her after I cleaned the key and she then realised the problem was still prevalent?"

Belle stared back and had the good grace to look _slightly_ contrite – yet refused to apologise.

Taking a deep breath the girl started to formulate a deal. To Rumplestiltskin's delight and Belle's befuddlement the girl even managed to screw that up. "I wish for my husband to be magicked so he can never murder me."

Belle's face was a picture – a mixture of dismay and irritation. Rumplestiltskin caught her gaze and silently they shared one single thought: _unbelievable_.

Belle shook her head and said to the girl, "Wouldn't it have been prudent to ask for the marriage to be terminated or for him to never be able to find you?"

"Oh no," the girl said. "I wish to remain married for my husband is very highly regarded and the most powerful man in the entire kingdom."

For nearly a minute Belle simply stared at the girl incomprehensively. "Your husband has murdered twelve women…"

"Because they opened the chamber," she said.

"No," Belle retorted, "because he is a terrible man who has no right to a wife. The chamber is just an excuse. He will kill you anyway!"

Ignoring Belle the girl turned to Rumplestiltskin and said, "I wish to make a deal. I wish for my husband to never be able to murder me…"

"Or harm you physically or emotionally," Belle added somewhat desperately – seeing the loophole.

"Yes," the girl added, "and to not harm me. In exchange for…"

"Something precious to be decided by me and to be claimed at a later date," Rumplestiltskin said.

Before Belle could interject again the girl nodded and the bargain was struck. "Deal!" Rumplestiltskin declared and clapped his hands together. A spark of magic crackled in the air and what was done was done.

Belle smiled weakly at the girl as she stumbled to her feet and thanked the pair before leaving the castle.

Alone again Belle said to her master, "I can't believe she agreed to that. Something precious by your will? That's…"

"Stupid," he said, agreeing with her. "Utterly barking, loony, raving mad. Crazy, some might say."

For the first time since arriving Belle realised one thing about the deal process: you get what you deserve and most importantly – what you ask for.

He giggled with delight. "That's the nature of the beast dearie; I take away what you never want to give."

Belle shook her head and replied firmly, "You take what they are stupid enough to surrender."

Rumplestiltskin tapped his lips with his index finger and considered his caretaker in a new light. "Why are you not scared of me?"

"I don't consider you to be dangerous. You are a deal maker, those who deal with you should be prepared for the consequences. Besides, it's not as if you have twelve wives bleeding in the attic."

Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes. "I took away your freedom dearie," he reminded her.

"I believe _I_ took away my freedom when _I_ consented to the deal."

"What choice did you have, dearie, hmmmm?"

"Oh, there is always, _always_ a choice. There is a choice to seek your help, a choice to deal and a choice of terms. If you are a monster for dealing then aren't we all monsters for consenting?"

"What a puzzle you are."

Belle started to tidy up the tea set but glanced over her shoulder and countered, "So are you."

When Belle left the room Rumplestiltskin sat back in his chair, placed his hands behind his head and smiled. He didn't know how he had done it but he had actually managed to make his fair caretaker believe that she was responsible for her own imprisonment and he in turn was likable due to his reasonable treatment of her.

He giggled. That was funny. Funny, funny, funny. Downright hilarious.

Meanwhile, down in the kitchens Belle was smiling at her own triumph. Today had taught her that human beings were capable of such atrocities and that her captor could be cruel and malicious. Yet he wasn't cruel to her. This led her to a powerful conclusion: he cared for her.

Maybe she had some power here after all.

While Rumplestiltskin celebrated his triumph over imprisoning Belle, she was slowly and surely loosening her own shackles while the walls around his heart started to crumble.

It was then she realised that one day he may view her as a companion rather and a prisoner: one day he might care enough to let her go.

So while Rumplestiltskin grinned at his own fortune, Belle smiled at hers. Both thought about the feelings of the other but neither of them thought of the love that would eventually blossom out of the darkest of situations.

No-one considered love. By the time they would identify it they would have surrendered to it.

And little did they know but they would be prisoners in love for eternity; shackled together through time and space.

Then – neither would want to be free.

* * *

**AN**: spot the Disney stories I have ripped off

- feel free to issue more prompts.

- I would love to hear feedback - positive, negative, suggestions, whatever.


	4. Chapter 4: Undisclosed Desires

Sorry for the delay in posting. I've had a sucky week, first I was unwell and then my laptop was stolen and I hadn't backed anything up. Fortunately, my beta – the lovely **writingdownsouth** – has inspired me to continue with the story. I also didn't want to let all the people who have reviewed, followed and favourited my story. I do appreciate all your support. So this is for her and for all of you!

So for the time being I'm fulfilling prompts. So prompt away!

This prompt: Dance

**Spoilers**: Skin Deep and Finale.

* * *

**Undisclosed Desires**

_Storybrooke_

The Pawnshop was a dark cave of miscellaneous treasures of varying importance; a museum of beautiful, forgotten things and a monument to another world. Amongst the ocean of collectibles and the fading paintings, stood Mr Gold. He stood behind the counter with his cane resting to his right. Uncharacteristically his suit jacket was removed and his maroon tie loosened against his back shirt. Aware of the time, Mr Gold quickly, but meticulously, filed the receipts in order and placed them securely in the till. Since magic and memory had returned, everyone in Storybrooke had suddenly felt the need to buy their old things back.

Business was good but morale was low. He wasn't the town's favourite person right now… but he wasn't the most hated. Oh no, that mantel fell to Regina. Belle had tried to suggest he gave back everyone's belongings free of charge – he refused. Business was business.

"_You won't make friends that way," she had warned him the day he reopened the shop._

"_I don't need friends, love. I have you," he had told her, loving the way she smiled brightly in response._

It was true. He didn't need the friendly gaze of the wolfgirl or the grateful words of the old woman. He didn't need Charming's thanks or Gepetto's companionship. He needed no-one and nothing other and Bae and Belle. And he had Belle. Everyone else were pawns in an elaborate game they hardly knew they were playing.

He was a God amongst mortals, especially with his magic growing stronger each day. And Belle, she was an Empress, destined to rule by his side.

Gold smirked to himself as he tallied up the takings for the day. Life was good.

Mr Gold barely looked up as the bell over the door twinkled. "Closed," he said morosely as he slammed the till shut and locked it.

"I'll go then," a voice teased from the door.

His reaction to her never diminished; he knew that for the rest of his days his heart would always skip at the sound her voice.

"Hello, love," he said, smiling. He grabbed his cane and limped around the counter. "What are you doing here?"

Belle stepped out of the pool of light by the doorway and met him in the centre of the store. Resting her hand on his atop of his cane she lent up and pressed a warm kiss to his lips. He sighed slightly as they parted. It was a kiss he remembered, chaste and innocent, so full of promise…

"I'm on my way to Ruby's…" she said. Gold looked surprised; Lord knows how she had formed a friendship with that girl after the shapeshifter cursed his store blue yesterday morning when she was forced to buy her and Granny's 'stuff' back.

But he was glad Belle had made friends. Long gone were the days in which he wished to possess her solely and keep her hidden from the world. Since the day he had freed her to go and buy straw in the town he knew that to love something was to give it freedom to fly. She had come back, she would always come back.

"Don't let her lend you any clothes," he teased, using his free hand to brush her chestnut curls out of her face.

His Belle dressed so beautifully in Storybrooke; knee length summer dresses of rich colours, deep blue, emerald green, scarlet. Today she was dressed in sapphire; a form hugging dress that brushed the knee and revealed a modest amount of cleavage. She was classy, beautiful and so like his Belle from the Dark Castle. Just a little more worldly wise with a shorter dress. The last thing he wanted was for her to stumble home in tiny shorts with a bare midriff. As fetching as he would find it, he knew Whale and the Cricket would also be soaking in the view.

"I'm going to teach her how to dance, you know, for Ella's wedding?" Belle said, fixing his tie so it sat properly at his collar. "Look at you so casual… are you feeling alright?"

He allowed her to fuss and chuckled. "You're a good teacher."

She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. "You remember?"

He stole a kiss from her and against her soft lips whispered, "Of course."

"I remember," she whispered back, brushing their lips together again, "you running away from me."

He drew her into a loving kiss and allowed his passion for her to pour out as their lips parted and the kiss deepened. Pressing her body against his, she squeezed his hand and moaned softly into his mouth. He parted from her just enough to breathe, "I ran away from me."

* * *

_Years earlier_

In the spinning room the fire was roaring in the hearth and spitting out torrents of warmth. Belle sat in Rumple's chair watching the flames lick and dance. The only sound in the room was the gentle creaking of the turning spinning wheel and the crackling of the fire.

Belle stared into the flames until her vision became unfocused and her world contracted into pure colour; a kaleidoscope of reds, oranges and yellows. She let her mind drift to her former life and the people she left behind. It was solstice and back home she knew her father would be merry with mead and her former betrothed would be reciting a tale of his brave battles. Music would play long into the evening and everyone would dance. There would be no class divide that night, the serving girls would dance with the elite soldiers and the noblewomen would spin and twirl with the stablemen. As her father had once told her, solstice was a time for togetherness.

Belle was startled out of her musings as Rumplestiltskin's hand rested gently on her shoulder. She glanced up at him and smiled sleepily.

"Tea?" he asked, offering her a cup.

She had been with him for nearly four months now and many weeks ago she had stopped waiting on him. A strange equality had befallen them; she did chores because she wished to do them, he no longer asked and had long stopped checking. They both made tea when the mood struck them and in the recent months he always asked her _please_ if he had any request of her.

She accepted the cup with thanks and sipped from the fine china, noting with bemusement that he still insisted on drinking his own tea from that infernal chipped cup. She could never get it off him…

"_It's not proper to drink out of chipped china…"_

"_Nah uh, dearie, it's my cup, don't you give me another, it's mine…"_

He conjured another chair and sat closer to the fire, regarding her with curious eyes. "I'll make you a deal…" he said.

She smiled around the rim of her cup and said, "Oh?"

"Your thoughts in exchange for mine."

The suggestion surprised her for he was always very guarded with his thoughts. She didn't need to think she instantly said, "Deal" and he giggled with delight.

She placed her tea cup on the side table and nodded to the fire. "I was thinking about the dancing flames, it reminded me of the solstice dances at home."

"You miss home," he stated, rather than asked.

"I have a new home," she diplomatically countered.

He regarded for her a moment, as if trying to analyse her every word. Perhaps he was, she thought. She often felt that he ruminated over her words, tasted them, revisited them and tried to hunt out any secrets within them. But her words were always honest and always would be.

"What were you thinking?" she asked, nudging him for his part of the bargain.

"That you may wish to pen your father a note on this solstice eve. Just a few lines regarding your safety …"

Belle beamed at him and resisted the urge to spring from her chair and embrace him. "Truly? I may do so?"

He nodded seriously and his mouth curved slightly into a small smile.

"Well, you have my thanks."

They dissolved into comfortable silence for a moment. The fire continued to roar and spit and outside the blizzard painted the windows white.

"Did you dance?" he suddenly asked her, looking away from her and towards the flames.

"Oh, yes," she said excitedly. "I was quite the dancer," she said, missing his slightly grimace at her use of the past tense.

"With your betrothed?" he pressed, his gaze still averted.

She laughed. "Oh no, Gaston couldn't dance and wouldn't! He would regale stories of his battles to the peasants. I would dance with everyone," she smiled at the memory, "When I was a girl I used to dance with Claudette, the cook's breadmaker. We would dance down the hallways." She looked at Rumplestiltskin and asked, "Do you dance?"

"No," he said flatly. Sipping his own tea, pinkie finger raised slightly, his lips brushing the chip.

"No, you can't or no you won't?"

"Just no," he returned.

"You never have?" she pressed.

He thought for a moment, casting his mind back through the years. He had danced once upon the grave of King Trent of Corin – but that was more of a venomous jig. He rarely thought about his weak, original form; he hated to think of that frightened spinner and his meagre life, yet pondering the issue he knew he never danced then. Not even at his strained wedding…

His face had become morose so Belle leant forward, and placed her hand on his knee, "Would you like to?" she asked. "I could teach you."

He shuffled in his chair, deliberately dislodging her touch. "I have no need to dance," he said, trying to subtly angle his body away from her and her confusing touch; the touch that scolded his skin and made his throat feel asphyxiated.

"Well," she said softly, "no-one has a _need_ to dance. It's fun." She stood suddenly and held her hand out. "Come on."

He looked blankly from her hand to her face. There was no way he would touch her hand, it would blister his skin and still his heart. Then he would find sleep allusive and spend the night pottering around with potions while trying to catalogue and categorize the torrent of emotions floating about in his lower stomach.

She flexed her fingers in an encouraging motion. "Come on." She smiled and looked so expectant that he inwardly cursed. What type of Siren was she, this far away from the sea?

Was this his damnation for years of wickedness? Was it punishment to have a beauty so close and yet flee from her touch? Was it punishment to … _care_ for a woman and know she will never … _care_ back (not even a little bit, not even at all)? Was it punishment to understand that the kindness she shows is a kindness borne of payment and utterly contractual? Yes, she was a punishment of the most glorious kind: a bittersweet torment.

Sighing deeply she took the teacup from his hands and placed it on the table before snatching his hand and instantly tugging him to his feet. All this she accomplished while he was balking at her closeness and trying to escape the scent of her hair and the electric thrill he experienced at her close proximity.

And there they stood; in front of the fire with his hand in hers. He licked his lips and tried to summon words but she was dragging him to the centre of the room and forcing his body to stand millimetres from hers.

"Ok," she said calmly as his heart thundered and stuttered, "basic waltz, I think."

The words were meaningless. All he knew was her, her presence and her beauty and her blasted hand in his, all hot and electric.

By the time he had formed words of refusal, "I don't think so…" she had grabbed his other arm and placed it around her waist and now she was too close and coming ever closer. She was talking, saying words and making noise, but that was all it was – noise. For her hand was in his, his arm was around her waist, and she was _everywhere_.

She let go of his hand and placed it upon his shoulder and there they stood suddenly, in an organised embrace.

He looked into her eyes, turquoise in the candle light, and found himself drowning and suffocating. Yet he couldn't pull away from the spell she had created. The experience of her in his arms was both thrilling and terrifying. She was utterly beautiful and a complete distraction.

She spoke again, words he didn't understand for all he could hear were the undisclosed desires in his heart. _Belle, I feel …_

"Step forward as I step back." She sounded so far away and it all was he could do to look at her and grasp at her fragile body as he felt his world tilt and splinter. What was this magic?

They moved, halting steps, fumbling and uncoordinated. She chuckled softly, her breath coming as puffs of air against his flawed skin. "Relax," she said and he looked at her incomprehensively.

"I don't dance," he said falteringly, his voice lower than she had ever heard it.

"You are dancing," she replied, gently.

She brought her body in closer so the material of her dress kissed the material of his silk shirt. Warmth exploded throughout his body; his death would be inexplicably of combustion. In that moment be was so consumed with her, he found himself aware of every aspect of her being. Aware of the way the ends of her hair gently spiralled, aware of the faint perfume of her skin and aware of every molecule of her being pressed against him. She was like the headiest of narcotics and in his drugged state the room seemed to fade away leaving just them. Her embrace became closer and her head pressed against his shoulder. Feelings repressed for hundreds of years broke free of their dark cage and revitalised his soul. Yet, he couldn't ever remember feeling as intensely as this… not even when he was a man. As their steps became harmonious the fire between them simmered to a heady sensuality. He moved by instinct alone and found himself able to sway against her like the act itself was somehow primal. In that second she was his every thought and every sensation. He was suddenly and completely addicted and knew that come a thousand summers he would never be able to break his fixation with her.

He closed his eyes and allowed his body relax against hers, gently pressing her more firmly against him. As his eyelids fluttered closed he found he could name that elusive emotion.

It was love.

"What's wrong?" she gasped as he suddenly pushed her away and took a several uncoordinated steps backwards.

She looked so lost and confused standing there with her hands outstretched. "You were doing well…" she said, taking a step forward.

He shook his head at her and held a warning finger up. "No," he told her, meaning the word to refuse every possible scenario. No to dance. No to her. No to them. No to …

No.

"I don't understand," she said, but he was already walking away.

As he strode up the stairs, two at a time, he cursed himself. In the darkness of the tower he stood at the window and apologised to his son for he had promised to never love again. Yet there he was deeply in love with his prisoner.

He imagined Bae beside him, his youthful face kind and understanding. "It's okay, papa. Love is good. I want you to have it."

He sighed and cursed himself. Love he never planned for. The most powerful magic of all – a condition for which there was no cure.

* * *

_Years later, Storybrooke_

"Why did you run?" Belle asked him, wrapping her arms around his middle.

He pulled back from her slightly and readjusted their stance so her hand was on his shoulder and his around her back. Like an expert he guided her into a slow and gentle swaying dance. Unlike their first dance, their bodies were flushed together and to his delight he felt that same all-consuming flame of love wash over him.

"I love you," he said into her hair as they swayed in the centre of his shop, surrounded by the relics of a former world. That world was dead to them but their love was immortal and eternal.

She captured his lips with hers. "And I love you too."

"I loved you then," he told her.

She chuckled, "I loved you when I fell from that ladder."

He kissed her again as they continued to gently turn on the spot. As they broke for breath he breathed into her soul words that he had wished to confess to her all those years ago, "I belong to you."


	5. Chapter 5: The Black Flame Candle

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review or favourite the story. After losing all my work on this, the kind reviews have helped me feel inspired to write new stuff.

This chapter is based on a prompt by my wonderful beta **writingdownsouth** who asked for Belle to help Rumple with a potion.

The next prompt I'm going to fulfil for the next update is by **Hiimkizzy** who wants: "Rumple's observation of Belle during her first days at the Dark Castle."

Let me know if you wish for more MrGold/Belle moments as well – I can slot them in before the flashbacks. But if it isn't popular and you just want the missing scenes in their pure form let me know too.

* * *

**The Black Flame Candle **

Belle was awoken when the full moon was still high in the sky and her room was smothered in darkness. Her eyes fluttered open as she lay on her stomach, amongst a sea of ivory sheets under the deep scarlet canopy of her four poster bed. It was only the small flickering flame of the candle, held in his hand, that illuminated Rumplestiltskin's presence in her doorway.

"Belle," he said softly, his voice low due to the late hour, "I need your assistance."

She sat up, suddenly awake, and squinted at him. His face was grave and the flicking shadows caused by the candle light made him look more sinister than ever. Yet, she wasn't afraid.

"Is everything ok?"

He licked his lips and tilted his head slightly. "Come with me," he said, finally, stepping out of the doorway to wait in the hall.

Belle grabbed her green, silk dressing gown and hurried down the corridor bare foot. "Is something wrong?"

He strode quickly in front of her, down into the inky darkness of the corridor and up the twisting, spiral stairs. They were headed to his laboratory – a place she was never allowed to venture.

"It happens rarely; however, it appears I need an assistant."

"An assistant," she wondered as they stepped into the tower. She stood in the centre of the room glancing over the assortment of brightly coloured bottles, the contents of which seemed to glow with inexplicable life. She had never been allowed in here before. Her eyes ran over the table where a pile of scrolls lay in disarray and numerous plants had been finely chopped on a large wooden chopping board. The room smelt richly of herbs, spice and a mysterious coppery scent she attributed to magic.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing to a tiny green vial on a shelf which contained swirling, glittering energy.

"Don't touch that," he groused and moved around her to get to the table, where he lent over an ageing scroll.

"Is it a good potion or a bad potion?"

"A neither," he said, not bothering to explain.

Belle shrugged and wandered over to the window, enjoying the slight breeze of fresh air that wafted between the stone wall and the window pane.

"Belle, I need you to do something in a moment."

She turned and looked at him, his back hunched over a scroll, a black finger nail tracing a line of writing.

"Ok," she said simply.

At her word, he glanced up. "Such trust? You do not wish to know why I require your service and what it is I ask of you?"

"Well, it's nothing dangerous," she said, smiling.

He frowned at her. "How do you know that?"

"Well, if it were dangerous you would not ask me."

He sighed and shook his head. She wondered if he found her trust foolish and worried over the matter for a few moments.

"You need to light this candle when I say." He pointed to a large, thick black candle which stood in an elaborate, wrought iron holder. "Exactly when I say."

She nodded and when she said nothing else he sighed again and explained. "Nothing will happen to you, it's just a candle..."

"I know," she said.

"Belle, have you no self-preservation," he wondered, almost exasperated at her compliance.

"Rumplestiltskin, if you wished to harm me or kill me you could do that well enough when I sleep in my bed. Hurting me under the guise of lighting a candle is absurd."

"What about the magic?" he asked. "Do you not wish to know about that?"

"Out of curiosity, yes, but not out of suspicion."

He smiled then and beckoned her closer. "You'll like this Belle. Come and see."

She stepped over to where he stood in front of the scroll. She stood close to him and smirked slightly when he took a hesitant step away from her. He was doing that a lot recently... asking her to come to him and then making an issue out of creating distance between them. In her early days at the castle she wondered whether his request of a 'caretaker' was a euphemism for a concubine and worried that he would invite – or even drag her – to his bedchamber. However, it soon became apparent that he was awkward and fumbling around her. A man who could barely look her in the eye and nervously skipped out of her presence was not a man she needed to fear.

She was reminded then of Gaston. How he would call her over to watch him spar and duel. _"Belle, come and see this, you'll like this..."_ Gaston was a brave and good man. She always felt guilty that she couldn't love him like he deserved, for he was so kind and utterly adored her. They were just very different people – him all bluster, formality and fighting – her creative, imaginative and thoughtful. She always felt guilty that she didn't try to enjoy or appreciate his interests more. That guilt ate at her as she stood next to Rumplestiltskin, enthralled in his every word and amazed by his every potion.

She looked at the scroll, at the looping lettering and strange symbols. "What does it mean?"

"It's a spell," he explained gently, "written in the old tongue. What this will do, Belle, is bring the inanimate to life."

Belle looked at him with wonder. "It will bring anything to life?"

"Well it will animate anything non-living."

At her look of awe he giggled, "Impressed?"

"Yes," she breathed. "What are you going to do with it?"

"There is a king from Desolace who wishes to bring to life an infallible statue to fight his wars. A statue that cannot bleed, reason nor die."

Perceptively Belle asked, "can it be used to bring life to the dead?"

He giggled. "Funnily enough it has been tried. A nobleman from Ewlyn procured some of this potion – not from me I might add – under the promise he would use it only to animate a small wooden horse to please his young son. But, the man was foolish and used the potion to revive his departed wife..."

Belle clung to Rumplestiltskin's every word, absorbing the story with fascination.

"To the man's horror, he found that the potion worked well enough; it did as promised and animated that which has no life. However," the imp added, raising a finger in warning, "all he animated was a rotting corpse. For the soul of the woman had long departed, as too had her beauty and preservation."

Belle gasped. "How awful!"

Rumplestiltskin giggled – almost with glee – and said, "he had to slay the very thing he wished to give life to." He tapped Belle's nose with his finger. "Let that be a warning to ya, dearie. Dead is dead – one must never try to intervene with two of the strongest forces in the universe. "

"Two?" Belle said. "Life and death?" she guessed.

"Oh no, love and death dearie, life is but a product of love and death is but a product of life. Together they form a perfect ouroboros. Any intervention is... unwise," he stressed.

"Understood," she said obediently, with a small smirk for she would never have the power to influence either love nor death. Neither would she want to.

He grinned at her and then pointed to a line unreadable to her eyes. "This is your part here. Once I throw the Elderleaves into this bowl you must light the candle." He handed her a long but skinny piece of wood. "This is the bark of a Wisden tree, very rare. Once you have lit the candle you must let the whole thing burn, so throw it in the fire."

Belle recorded each instruction to memory, "ok."

"Then just stand back and watch, touch nothing and don't move closer."

"Ok, got it." She hurried over to the fire, clutching the wood of the Wisden Tree and waited for the right moment. When Rumplestiltskin picked up a handful of Elderleaves, she lit the wood and breathed in the pleasant burning scent.

She carefully took the flame near the candle and waited. The second Rumplestiltskin threw in his fistful of leaves she held the fire over the wick and waited for the light to catch. Instantly, the wick burst into a beautiful golden flame and then rapidly darkened to ebony black, the centre of which glowed an electric blue. Belle gasped – she had not expected that. She quickly threw the wood into the fire and just as she was about to ask Rumplestiltskin if the spell had gone wrong he giggled wildly and clapped his hands together. "Yes, yes, good, good." He bounced slightly on the spot, his eyes fixed to the black flame. Then he glanced at Belle with a wicked grin, "you are a good girl Belle."

"Why is it black?"

"Why? Because it worked!" he exclaimed.

"It didn't work with you?"

He giggled manically, "Well no, I'm without the necessary … requirements, one should say."

"I don't understand..." she spoke, watching the dancing black flame.

"The black flame candle," he announced theatrically, "must be lit on the full moon by a person of purity and virtue." He raised both hands and pointed at her triumphantly, "you."

She smiled. "This means I'm a good person?"

Rumplestiltskin chuckled lightly and raised his eyebrows at her. "In a matter of speaking, It means you are an _untouched_ person."

Before Belle could be scandalised by the implication, the flame grew suddenly bigger and leapt from the candle to the bowl of dried ingredients. The bowl burst into black flames and then just as quickly died out to leave charred remains that slowly started to glow purple. Rumplestiltskin lifted up a vial of yellow potion and added it to the pot. Belle watched in wonder as the mixture turned into a pretty violet liquid.

"Ta da!" he sang and poured the bowl's contents into an empty vial. He grinned at Belle and clapped his hands, "Bravo, dearie."

Belle shrugged. "I didn't do anything really."

"Ah," he said wickedly, "it's your lack of action that made it work!" He laughed manically at his own joke.

Belle smirked. "It strikes me though that a person can be virtuous whether they are untouched or not. Would I not be a virtuous person after my marriage?"

Rumplestiltskin paused in his merriment and eyed her thoughtfully. "A virgin must light the black flame candle," he said pointedly, "those are the requirements."

Belle bit her lip. "What exactly does the scroll say?"

Not used to being questioned, the imp gaped at her, shuffled over to the scroll and peered down at it. He mumbled for a few moments and then read aloud, "The black flame lives through the virtue of the pure." He glanced back at Belle, as if to say 'see?'

Belle shook her head. "Virtue of the pure can mean someone who is pure of heart, can it not? The wickedest of...virgins wouldn't make the candle light surely. No, the candle must be lit by anyone who has virtue in their hearts."

Rumplestiltskin was stumped. He hummed for a moment and then shrugged. "No, I'm right."

Belle laughed, "Through what logic, sir?"

"I am the Dark One," he said, as if that answered all things.

"I am the Dark One," Belle echoed in a deep voice, then playfully smiled. "Admit it, I'm right."

"You're not incorrect," he said finally. "Yet not correct completely."

Ignoring him, Belle looked at the candle. "Did you try to light this?" she asked.

"No. I am not virtuous, no matter how you define the term."

Belle tilted her head and smiled gently. "I think you are."

"On that point you are most certainly wrong, Belle."

It was rare he used her name and she enjoyed the sound of it. She also knew that when he spoke it he was speaking seriously.

"Rumplestiltskin," she said, "I look at you and I see someone who may not act in virtue all the time, but has great capacity for it. Do you know how I know that?"

He stared at her.

"Because," she continued, "I sleep in my bed at night without fear or concern. You are not a perfect man, but you are a good man to me."

He shook his head and turned from her. He had many protests to make, but was too tired to fight her. If the stupid girl thought him a hero for stealing her freedom, then let her have her delusion.

"I know you don't believe me," she said, "but we both know how terrible this sentence could have been for me."

He turned at her and spat out his reply, "Belle, you are thanking me for not harming you!" He raised his hands and seemed torn between pulling at his hair or smashing up his laboratory. "You think me virtuous for not stealing the tiny bit of happiness you have left? For not forcing my way into..."

"Stop," she said, holding up her hand. "I am entitled to believe what I wish. If I choose to believe in you, then that is my prerogative. I still have freedom of thought and expression and I will think what I will. Good night, sir."

Then she was gone, hurrying back to her room, annoyed that he didn't see goodness in himself.

As she lay in bed, she heard him destroy his laboratory, the smashes of bottles and the clattering of furniture lulling her into a fitful sleep.

When she awoke the next morning a tiny vial was by her bed. In the bottle was a single drop of the violet animation potion. Rumplestiltskin avoided her all day but she entertained herself with a living candelabra that walked around on the floor, bowed, and waved it's candlesticks like arms. She called him Lumeire.

When she thanked Rumplestiltskin for the potion, he pretended not to hear her. But he did smile when she whispered, "see… you can be nice."

* * *

**AN**: points for noticing intertextuality here. I've borrowed a concept from an old Halloween film.


	6. Chapter 6: The First Week

Sorry for the delay. My beta and I were snowed under with RL stuff : (

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I am on the lookout for prompts.

Big thanks to my beta for sorting this out for me. Thank you to everyone who kindly reviews and favourites my story. I appreciate every single comment.

I wonder if I should up the rating to T. I keep writing a lot of kissing and wanted to do a (somewhat sexy but pretty mild) dream sequence. I won't change the rating if it will deter readers. Let know if you are in favour of the change or want to keep things as they are. I will defer to you!

Remember to prompt! :D

* * *

**Chapter 6: The First Week**

_Storybrooke_

In the first week of having Belle back in his life, he overcompensated. Mr Gold was aware that with every pricey purchase he was trying to make up for her first week with him in the _other_ world. Storybrooke Belle had no concept of money and value here and didn't really grasp the concept of the credit card. If she had understood, she would have been mortified at the amount of money he spent on her in those few days. She was furnished with more clothes than she could hope to wear and all the modern technology she had no clue how to use. She had a leather bound copy of every book he imagined she might like and a room in which to place them. He also paid an extortionate rate to have Hopper visit her every day, for as long as she needed, to ensure her mental health.

He started to work sporadic and odd hours - he would randomly close shop to take her to the park, walk with her to wherever she fancied, and sit with her as she tasted milkshake for the first time at Granny's. He spent long mornings in bed with her, just holding her as she slept and thinking about all the years he wished he could do just that. Even when people came to deal, he considered it as time away from her and so made the deals quicker… and perhaps easier than he would have liked.

The Storybrooke residents looked at him as if he were mad. He still collected the rent, but this time with Belle on his arm, chattering away, making friends. He still glowered and indulged in his own passive aggressive nature, but smiled with Belle around and even laughed and joked.

Emma was the first brave enough to comment on the transformation.

"So, Hopper finally did that lobotomy," she joked. She leant against her Sheriff car, wearing her leather jacket with her hands thrust deeply in her jeans pockets.

Gold leant on his cane and gave her a small smile. "Miss Swan, nice to see you hard at work, protecting the streets."

"I'm on my break," she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "I am allowed a break." She crossed her arms and when she spoke she tried hard to sound causal, "So, what's new?"

He gave her a flat look. "Everything I imagine. It's a different world now."

Emma barked out a dry laugh. "No kidding, in one day I became a saviour and discovered that Mary Margaret, who is younger than me incidentally, is my mother."

"And Snow White," Gold added, with a small smile.

Emma took a deep breath and shook her head, still not quite believing it, "yeah. My father is actually Prince Charming. My mother actually calls him Charming," she chuckled and then rolled her eyes.

"Interesting couple," Gold murmured quietly.

"Says you," she laughed.

"Sorry, Miss Swan?" Gold asked.

"You go for a walk in the woods – around the same time as magic re-entered the world (and I will be looking into that, just so you know) – and return with a girl."

"Woman," he corrected, with a slight cringe. People's insistence in calling Belle a girl did nothing to ease the age gap. Belle was twenty and Ruby was already planning a lavish twenty first birthday for her. The twenty first was not a mile stone celebrated in the other realm where women were married at fourteen and babies birthed by sixteen. Belle's age wasn't so terribly… _unconventional_ then.

"Riiiiight," Emma drawled, "so, this woman…"

"Belle."

Emma nodded. "Where did she come from?"

Gold had no intention of telling the Sherriff the truth. He had plans for Regina, plans that didn't need to be hampered by the moral compass of the town sheriff. So he lied, "When magic returned, so did she."

"Convenient," Emma mused, believing none of it. "I remember not long ago you going loopy at the florist over some woman he hurt and who had been lost forever… coincidence?"

Gold shrugged, "Conspiracy theories are no substitute for real detective work, Miss Swan."

"Oh, don't you worry, I will be doing some detective work," she warned.

"Maybe you should start by investigating the former Mayor," he groused.

Emma's expression hardened. "Well when I find her, I will."

"A lot of people want to find her," he said lowly.

Hearing the threat, Emma gave the pawnbroker a warning look, "As I have told everyone in this town – on several occasions now - she will be brought to justice. Not vigilante justice but proper justice. She will have a proper trial in a proper court room with a randomly selected jury. She will be held accountable to the law, Mr Gold… or should I call you Rumplestiltskin now?"

"Mr Gold is suitable," he returned as he shifted his weight and leant more heavily on his cane. The magic hadn't eased the pain in his knee in the slightest. "Law is slightly different here, Miss Swan. How can you try crimes of magic in a contemporary court room?"

Emma graciously nodded. "The process will have to be altered and when he find Regina I will put in place a legal panel to advise and I would appreciate it if you would assist on the matter."

Gold scoffed. Regina would be in a billion tiny pieces before she got to court.

Ignoring the man's cold response Emma tugged her hands from her pockets and reached for her take-away hot chocolate that she had placed on the roof of her car. She sipped the liquid and the flood of cream and cinnamon in her mouth reminded her of her mother. Her heart tightened a bit at the thought. She had a family. Pushing the onslaught of emotions away for the time being, Emma nodded at Gold. "So, this Belle of yours, is she your wife?"

"Not yet," he returned.

Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise at the admission. "Henry says she's the Beauty to your Beast."

Mr Gold chuckled, "Well I won't argue with that."

"So, where is she now? I'm used to seeing you two plastered together, the proverbial two peas in a pod."

"She's with Ruby."

At the mention of Ruby, Emma seemed pleased. "It's good she's making friends – that's important. I know what it's like to ... well... be a little isolated," she paused and then quickly added, "Although I'm sure she's perfectly happy with you…" It stuck Gold that Emma really did seem to care about the Storybrooke residents.

"She needs friends," he agreed, taking no offence.

"I have to say Gold; it's nice to see you so… I don't know… happy? Is this you actually happy?" she laughed and shook her head, "It's like you're this brand new person. Honestly, I like it. You're not that bad of a guy you know? I see how you look at that girl, how you treat her. I know you've had your moments but… I actually have a hard time in seeing you as this terrible beast."

He smiled tightly at the word 'beast'; to Emma it seemed more of a grimace. "Well," he said, stretching out the word, "it wasn't always this way."

Emma sipped at her hot chocolate again and gestured for him to speak. "Go on…"

Gold shook his head. He would tell her nothing. She wasn't his friend. Magic was back but nothing changed the fact that he had no friends here – not in Storybrooke and not in the _other_ world. He had Belle, Bae, and his memories of both. Gold gave her a dismissive look and started to hobble down the street.

"Hey, just trying to be friendly, you know," the Sherriff called after him.

He didn't look back at the blonde saviour, but her words resonated in his mind. He had heard them long ago…

* * *

_Years earlier._

_Day one._

It was the afternoon of her first day. He was drinking his tea from his newly chipped cup and watching his new caretaker lean nonchalantly against the table like she was some sort of guest.

She was holding a duster in her hand and chattering to him like a trained monkey – like one of those chimps at the travelling carnivals. Natter, natter, natter.

"So, tell me about yourself," she said offering him a smile he knew to be completely false.

"Who I am is none of your concern. I am Rumplestiltskin, that's all you need to know," he replied bluntly as he replaced his cup on the table and folded his hands in his lap.

"I'm just trying to be friendly," Belle said, holding her hands up defensively and giving him an innocent look.

Rumplestiltskin glared at the girl, the word 'friendly' swimming around in his chaotic mind. The Dark part of him laughed at the sentiment, but the man deep within clung to the word with desperation.

_Had he ever had a friend? No. He had Bae and he was… _

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and regarded her coolly. She stood in her glorious golden dress, looking more like his glamorous, noble wife than his caretaker and spoke about friendship. He scoffed at her and scowled. It was all a lie, part of her feminine wiles no doubt: she probably planned to look pretty, to smell nice and to play the part of his friend. But her unsubtle plan would never result in her release, he vowed, for she was his forever

"Just do as I asked, dearie. I asked for a caretaker not a _friend_," he said drawing out the word until it sounded like an insult.

"Well it might be nice to be friendly seeing as I will be here for… for… well…"

"Forever," he supplied with a smirk. She wasn't staying 'for a time'; she wasn't staying 'for a while'; and she wasn't staying 'a spell'. She would be here forever. "Forever," he repeated firmly.

She nodded and bit her lip. "Yes," she agreed, "forever. So," she continued quickly, "it might be nice to try and be friendly," she raised her voice in question. She was losing her confidence and it made him smile.

"Friendship might be a little strained, dearie on the account of you being my property and all."

To his surprise, Belle looked downcast for a moment and then smiled gently at him. "Maybe we can work on the friend thing."

She was so determined. His pulse skipped briefly and the delicate nudge of feelings made him oddly defensive. It was all a lie. He had to remember that. She was a liar, like his wife, like every other woman who came to him to ask him for potions and spells and curses to confound their men. "Maybe not," he retorted.

She shrugged her shoulders and pushed away from the table. She moved to the glass cabinet and started to dust his collection. He watched her for long moments; he watched the way she gently touched his ornaments and methodically dusted every nook and cranny. She was doing a proper job, she was doing it without complaint and she was trying to engage him in pleasant conversation.

He didn't know what he had expected from her – but he hadn't expected that.

Rumplestiltskin didn't like to be taken off guard, so sat in his seat glowering at her. She was winning a game he didn't even know they were playing. It was annoying and not part of his plan.

* * *

He left her in the dungeon again that night. She went willingly, although not without complaint.

"I won't run away, you know," she said as they reached the cell door. "You don't need to lock me up."

"I lock up all my possessions, dearie. You just won't fit in the cabinet and putting you on a pedestal may give you … _delusions_," he mocked. With a wave of his hands, the cell door sprung open and with a gentle shove to her back he pushed Belle into the prison. "Nighty, night. Don't let the rats bite."

As he walked up the stairs he heard her shout, "Rats? Really? You can't leave me here."

He smirked. Yes, he could. He could do whatever he wanted. She was his, his Belle, his belonging.

* * *

The next morning, her dress was creased and stained at the hem. She looked a little less like a princess and more like a runaway. He leant against the cell door and stared at her as she rose from her straw bed to stand in the centre of the room. The morning light streamed in from the high window and kissed her chestnut hair. She was beautiful even amongst filth. Self-consciously, she patted her hair down and tried to smooth her dress.

"If I had a mirror I could," she started.

"No mirrors," he said firmly, without explanation. He kept his eyes on her and allowed them to roam from the top of her head to the hem of her golden dress. She was a precious piece, of that there was no doubt. He had watched her for three days in her father's castle before deciding to take her as his reward. In those days he saw her strength as she held her own in the war court, saw her intelligence as she conversed with military men, saw her bravery as she spoke calmly about the ogres, and saw her inner beauty as she comforted her father. He saw the gentle way she dealt with her staff and her acceptance of the hunchback stable-boy, who she referred to as 'my good friend Amis'. He watched her help the cook in the kitchen and watched her read to the illiterate guard who stood outside her quarters on duty. She read poetry to him – a poem about battles and heroism and adventure. She was …lovely. A person of beauty – internally as well as externally.

He didn't need gold, he didn't need supplies, he didn't need maps or trinkets or gems or spells or spoils. In fact, he didn't need Belle. He _wanted_ her.

He wanted her even more when he realised how adored she was. Her father worshipped her and her betrothed loved her deeply. It wasn't _True Love_ of course but… well that was rare anyway. The oaf loved her as best as he could. For those reasons combined Rumplestiltskin took her; she was precious and he liked precious things. He also loved power and there was nothing more powerful than taking something precious from another.

But… maybe he was ruining her. Rumplestiltskin moved his gaze to her face and stared into her blue eyes, feeling a soft sense of pride when she didn't flinch or drop her gaze. He didn't want to destroy the thing he worked so hard to obtain. What use was she if her casing was damaged and her function impaired?

He stood back and with a wave of his hands fixed her appearance. He dressed her in a pretty blue dress and returned lustre to her hair. He had no intention of dressing her like a queen because nobility was rotten to the core; he didn't want a doll, he wanted something useful. Her dress was practical but aesthetically pleasing. When she smiled at her new clothes with genuine delight, he congratulated himself on choosing a woman of substance rather than vanity.

"Thank you," she said.

He didn't want her to mistake the gesture for … _friendship_. So he nonchalantly said, "You represent me, you must look nice."

She nodded at the new rule, "Ok, got it. I'll try. But with a mirror..."

"No mirrors," he said again firmly, a flash of fire in his eyes. "No mirrors."

"Ok," she accepted. They both stared at each other for a moment and eventually Belle shifted awkwardly and pointed to the entrance he had blocked with his body. "I should go and make breakfast…"

He instantly stepped aside, feeling uncharacteristically foolish and to cover his momentary gracelessness mumbled for her to 'hurry up'.

"Thank you for the dress, it really is lovely. I never really cared for the other one; it was too stuffy and hard to breathe in."

Her thanks warmed him, but rather than let it show he made a hurrying gesture with his hands. "Run along, the morning is fleeting!"

As she scampered up the stairs, he realised that she was the first person to tell him 'thank you' since Bae.

* * *

_Day Two_

Belle was equally annoying on her second day. She hummed and twirled as she dusted. She was dusting the pedestals with a feather duster and after polishing each one, would make a pretty and elegant little twirl as she moved to the next one.

He stilled his spinning and watched the ludicrous display. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Dusting," she said, halting her motions and turning to look at him. She appeared so startled it was as if she had forgotten him altogether.

"That twirling and the noise…" he said, moving his hands when words escaped him.

"Dusting is quite fun," she said, perplexing him completely.

"Fun?"

"Yes, I've never done anything like this. There's a lot of satisfaction in doing a job well and making the place tidy. I really don't mind it."

For a wicked second he debated refusing her the chore and giving her something worse. To his own surprise, he let it go and returned to his spinning. She continued to hum and dust and while it was distracting, it didn't irritate him as much as he expected.

* * *

That night he led her down to her cell and rather than push her in he gestured her inside as if were a gentleman and she was a fine lady he was directing into a carriage after a grand ball.

"Thank you," she said with a polite nod of her head.

Just as he was about to lock the door she asked, "There are no rats, are there?"

"Maybe," he said, giggling.

She sighed and looked about her warily. "Night then," she said with resignation.

"Nighty, night."

* * *

_Day Three_

On the third day, he opened her cell door to see her already standing in the centre of the tiny room waiting.

"Morning," she said brightly, "tea?"

He nodded and stepped aside as she strode from the cell and made for the kitchen.

"I'll make some porridge too," she said, already halfway up the stairs.

He nodded again. Her bright attitude and confidence confounded him.

She paused on the top step and bent over to look down at him. "Could I maybe have a bath? The dress seems to be self-cleaning but…"

"Yes, er… certainly," he said, trying not to think of the process of bathing. She smiled and darted out of the dungeon.

He allowed his magic to draw her a bath in the centre of the kitchen and had the sensibility to light the fire as well. No point in allowing her to be cold.

* * *

After her bath, she brought breakfast and tea and placed it upon the table. She smelt of warmth, soap and lavender. It was a pleasant and oddly comforting aroma. The ends of her hair were slightly damp and dotted the back of her dress with beads of moisture. As she poured the tea and sugared his porridge, he noticed that her skin was flushed a delicate pink from the hot water. Her lips seemed redder and her body seemed more relaxed. When she handed him his spoon, their fingers brushed; his calloused and dry, hers smooth and warm.

It was at that moment, as he dipped his spoon into his porridge, that he fully appreciated that Belle was not just a wonderful object he had obtained – she was a living, breathing woman. A person. A person like him who enjoyed soft beds, warm baths, clean clothes and … company.

It had been so long since he had spent time with another person that he had practically forgotten what other humans were like.

"Did you enjoy your bath," he asked.

"Oh yes," she breathed, "it was divine."

He smiled at her word choice; a bath was such a meagre thing to be considered 'divine'.

"You may have a bath whenever you choose. The water will remain forever hot and forever clean."

Belle smiled widely. "Thank you."

Thanks again, he mused as he tucked into his porridge.

He couldn't remember a time when his wife ever thanked him. He had thanked her once for giving him Baelfire. In return she told him never to come near her again. He hadn't.

* * *

_Day Four_

On the fourth day, he allowed the cell to open on its own and waited for Belle in the spinning room.

She entered with his breakfast and his tea in his chipped cup and he noticed, to his surprise, that she had a bowl for her and a teacup for her.

"I was going to join you for breakfast today," she said, but there was a tone of question in her statement. She was unsure.

With a flick of his wrist he summoned her a chair at the corner of the table next to his. That was his answer.

They ate in silence. He had no idea what she was thinking about, but he wondered why he didn't magic the chair at the end of the table. Her closeness was distracting and her scent of lavender flooded the room.

"Is your breakfast ok?" she asked.

He looked up and found her face closer to his than it had ever been. Her cheeks were rosy and her skin seemed to glow. He nodded and looked away from her. As he ate his porridge, he could feel her gaze upon him.

He wondered what she thought when she looked at his cursed skin.

He knew he looked at her and thought her beautiful. He wondered if she looked at him and thought him hideous.

He glanced up at her then and she quickly averted her eyes.

Yes, he thought, she must think me hideous.

* * *

_Day Five_

On the fifth day she groaned when she placed the tea tray upon the table. Her hand went to the small of her back and pressed at a sore spot. She didn't exaggerate the motion or try to draw attention to it. She rubbed her back quickly and without complaint when she thought he was consumed with his spinning. But he had noticed.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she said quickly, "just a twinge."

He glanced at the tea tray and tried to mathematically estimate the weight. "Is your work too taxing?"

She chuckled and shook her head, "No, no. I'm fine really. I must have slept funny."

Instantly her cramped quarters and straw bed appeared in his mind. He was damaging his property through lack of care. Worse, he was hurting a woman who had shown him nothing but kindness when he was least deserving.

He felt his stomach plummet as he regarded her weary pose and thought _I've hurt her_.

_I've hurt Belle._

Ignoring the breakfast she had prepared, he walked towards the door and told her to follow. They walked in silence as Rumplestiltskin pondered his inadequacies as a man and owner. He even slowed his pace as he heard her tripping after his long strides.

He approached the spare room closest to his bedroom and with a flippant gesture magicked open the doors and revitalised the room.

She gasped when she saw the large room. Her eyes took in every glorious feature: the four poster red with the luxurious red canopy, the ivory sheets, and the large uncovered windows which overlooked the mountains. It was a beautiful but simple room.

Although the furniture was bare and there was nothing in her wardrobe and no ornaments on her tables, Rumplestiltskin knew he would give her all those things in time. But not today. For even though she now resided in the room designed for the mistress of the castle, she was not his wife – she was his property. It would do neither of them any good to be under any delusions.

"For me?" she asked in wonder.

"Yes, I can't have you limping and moaning around the castle," he griped.

She beamed at him, a smile big enough to light her eyes and transform her face. "Thank you."

"You thank me a lot," he said.

"I mean it. People should be thanked for good deeds. It's the decent thing to do."

Rumplestiltskin ducked his head and thought about her words. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and mumbled, "Thank you, Belle, for your help at the castle."

Surprised, her eyes widened. "You're welcome."

He stayed for a second, soaking in her joy, before leaving her to wander around her room while he ate his cold porridge.

* * *

_Day Six_

On the sixth day, Belle bumped into him in the corridor as she was leaving her room. She gasped and he steadied her.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

"Like an angel," she said. "The bedroom is fantastic. I do appreciate it."

He fidgeted on the spot and tried to think of a response that sounded indifferent. When nothing was forthcoming, he gave her a curt nod and wandered away.

* * *

_Day Seven_

On the seventh day, he sat at his breakfast table and ate a cooked breakfast with eggs, sausages, tomato and bacon.

"Porridge would have been fine," he told her when he had finished and pressed a napkin to his lips.

"The dungeon was also fine," she returned. "Sometimes fine isn't good enough, hmm?"

He saw it for what it was: a reward for his nicety. Maybe she was trying to condition him. He smirked and said, "Are you trying to tame the beast, dearie?"

She sighed and shook her head. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

He said nothing in response, but the word wasn't so abhorrent anymore.

It would be nice to be her friend.

* * *

_Years later: Storybrooke_

Gold sat in his living room surrounded by all his beautiful trinkets, sipping from his chipped tea cup. He watched out of the window as Belle walked towards the house. She wore a yellow sundress with matching sandals. The colour reminded him of her golden dress from her first day at the Dark Castle. Her hair was down and curling in the breeze. She saw him watching from the window and waved as she hurried up the steps.

"Hi," she called out as she entered the house.

"Have a nice time?" he asked as she hurried past the living room and into the kitchen. He heard the kettle switch on and bubble to life. She called out from the kitchen; her voice loud over the noise of the kettle, "You can find anything on the Internet. Anything."

Gold laughed, "What did you find?"

"There are a billion stories about us on the Internet, did you know that?"

Gold fingered the chip of the cup and called back, "I'm aware."

The noise of the kettle died down and the tinkering of china was heard. She was stirring three sugars into her tea – as always. "It's all pretty inaccurate. The details are all wrong."

Although she couldn't see him, he nodded along to her words.

"I think truth gets lost in the translation, you know?" she called out.

Again, he nodded.

"The stories seem to have the general gist, but… well… it's not really us," she shouted.

"It's a fairy-tale," he called back.

He heard Belle along the corridor and smiled at her as she entered the living room. He held open his arms and welcomed her to sit in his lip. He held her close and pressed a kiss against her lips.

"I thought we _were_ fairy tales," she said.

"Well," he said, "when we're back in the other world, Storybrooke will be but a fairy-tale."

"True," she remarked, snuggling against his body. "What did you do today?"

"Nothing much. Shop work. Spoke to the Sheriff."

"Oh," Belle uttered, "that's good. Are you friends then?"

"No," he replied, kissing the top of her head and letting his hand rub small circles on her back. His hands grazed the small of her back and rubbed the area that gave her grief all those years ago.

"Why not?"

"I'm not a friendly person," Gold said. His fingers started to trace the letter G over her back in a sensual, looping pattern.

"You need friends," she chastised. "Make an effort."

"I have you," he said.

She pulled back from him slightly so she could look into his dark eyes. "And I have you." She kissed him lightly and resisted the urge to deepen the kiss.

"Make friends," she told him.

"You're all I need," he assured her, trying to pull her in for a kiss.

"Indulge me then."

"I'm trying," he teased as he snatched a kiss.

"Not that," she laughed. "Make at least one friend."

"Why, pray tell?"

She thought for a moment and then articulated the concept in a way he would understand. "Because friends are allies. One day you might need them. It's like a really good deal. You make a deal to become friends and when one of you needs help you help out. Besides, I'm not here every second; I don't want you to be lonely."

He didn't argue with her, it was easier to kiss her. He held her tightly with one arm and clutched his chipped cup with the other.

He would make acquaintances but there would be no friend in his life like Belle. It was easy to befriend Gold, but not so easy to befriend Rumplestiltskin. Belle, the beautiful woman sitting in his lap kissing him deeply, had loved him even when he was a beast.

She was his first friend.

Truth be told, he knew she would always be his only true friend.


	7. Chapter 7: All the King's Men

While my next proper chapter is being betaed I am updating with this little chapter.

I found this chapter on my desktop. It's from the original series I wrote before my laptop was stolen.

Thank you for all your reviews and favourites – as always. I hope you enjoy this section.

Consider this a short interlude.

* * *

**Chapter 7: All the king's men**

Rumplestiltskin had always known that Belle was intelligent. She had held her own in the war court and could converse sensibly on many topics. Often in discourse she surprised him with remarkable insights he himself did not have. However, it was during a game of King's Men that Rumplestiltskin became aware of the extraordinary breadth of her intellect.

Rumplestiltskin had ventured into her library hoping to find her there. But the large, bright room was barren. He strolled through the room, casting his eyes over the titles closest to him, noting that she had started to arrange his collection into a genre order.

As he was idly strolling around he noticed his King's Men board: a three tiered game with solid gold and silver pieces representing knights, soldiers, ogres, peasants and wizards. The aim of the game was to capture the other player's king. The imp remembered leaving the game mid completion from the many rounds he had played by himself. He had been playing the with the gold pieces and had cast the silver pieces as his fictional opponent. Consequently, when he had left the same the gold King was in prime position to capture the board.

Now that was not the case. Someone – _Belle_ – had been playing the silver pieces and had manoeuvred her king to the top tier.

Frowning at the tiny silver king Rumplestiltskin sat down in one of the player's chairs and studied the board thoughtfully. After several minutes he slid one of the golden wizards from the bottom tier to the second tier, placing him in a casting position against Belle's king. Feeling pleased with himself the imp walked away from the board having bested his novice opponent.

* * *

The next day, while Belle was opening every window to 'air the castle', Rumplestiltskin strolled back into the library and straight over to the board.

His smile dimmed when he saw Belle's stupid silver wizard blocking the spell line from his golden wizard. Rumplestiltskin sat heavily in his chair and glowered at the board. He had expected Belle to move her king.

Deciding that subtlety was in order, Rumplestiltskin shifted a squat golden ogre from the middle of the board to the bottom. He presumed Belle wouldn't even notice the move because she would be too focused on the top two tiers.

Rumplestiltskin had been playing the game for years and had yet to be bested. Many a deal had been based on winning this very game.

Lord Boma had made a deal that if he won King's Men Rumplestiltskin would supply his kingdom with gold for ten years. Lord Boma had lost. Then Captain Faithful, the pirate lord, had challenged the Dark One to a game, the leverage being a map to the fountain of eternal youth. Captain Faithful had lost… and later died.

Belle didn't stand a chance.

That afternoon Belle entered the spinning room with tea and an assortment of finger sandwiches and tiny cakes. She laid the snacks on the table and said, "Your move."

* * *

Rumplestiltskin stared down at the board trying to work out what Belle had done. Dark eyes trailed over every piece slowly. Yet after the third sweep of the board Rumplestiltskin had no idea what Belle had moved. He was minutes away from marching down into the kitchen and accusing her of not having taken a move when he noticed a peasant in the far right corner of the bottom tier.

A peasant.

Well that baffled him. A peasant could only move one square at a time and had no special moves.

For an hour the Dark One stared at the peasant and plotted every possible move the piece could make. Eventually the imp decided that Belle was bluffing. So he ignored the piece and obstinately moved his golden ogre onto the middle tier at which point he triumphantly obliterated one of Belle's silver knights.

With a satisfied smile Rumplestiltskin left the library feeling a strong urge to whistle.

* * *

That night as Rumplestiltskin stood in his bedchamber looking out of the window at the starry sky a timid knock fell upon his door.

"Belle?"

"Your turn," a voice came from behind the closed door.

The imp grinned gleefully.

He whipped the door open and strode past her, taking a casual look at her long white, silk nightdress and bare feet.

"I took your knight earlier," he said, feeling proud.

Belle gave him a wicked smile. "I just took your ogre."

The imp halted on the stairs, so suddenly he nearly stumbled. "What?"

Belle chuckled to herself and before she retreated into her bedroom said, "Good night and good luck."

Rumplestiltskin launched himself down the stairs and ran all the way to the library. Sure enough there was his golden ogre in the capture box.

He cursed and kicked his chair. She wasn't winning but she was hardly losing. That was completely unacceptable.

* * *

As the days wore on Belle became intolerably smug. Rumplestiltskin started to grind his teeth whenever she mentioned the game. He resisted the strong urge to tip the board over whenever he saw it.

The day she called him a bad loser he stormed out and slammed the door. Her laughter only made him more annoyed.

"It's just a game," she said.

He shook his finger at her, "Oh no dearie, we are not playing. We are at war."

Belle shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. "Let's call it a tie."

"Never!"

* * *

After a week both Belle and Rumplestiltskin had lost the majority of their pieces. Belle simply shrugged and sighed whenever she lost a piece but the Dark One growled and stomped around the room. When the imp lost his remaining soldier he had thrown a book across the room causing the spine to break and pages fly all over the room.

"Are you satisfied?" Belle had asked as she picked up the broken text.

"You're cheating!" he accused without certainty.

"I am not! What a thing to say! Maybe I'm just a good player."

He frowned at her. "No."

Belle rolled her eyes and handed him the battered book. "Fix this."

Rumplestiltskin snatched it from her grasp and stormed from the room.

"Big baby," he heard her say as doors fell shut behind him.

* * *

The next day Rumplestiltskin sat looking at the pitiful board. He had four pieces left: his king, a knight, a wizard and an ogre. Belle had two knights, a king and a peasant.

Resting his booted feet on the empty bottom tier of the board he studied the game carefully. Suddenly he noticed a subtle flaw in Belle's game play: she had created a barrier around her king on the top and middle tier but had left room for a wizard to attack from the bottom tier.

He smirked. _Silly girl_.

Triumphantly Rumplestiltskin moved his wizard from the top tier to the bottom. In one more move he would obliterate her king and claim victory.

He would crush Belle and lord it over her for all eternity. Four hundred years from now he would sit taking tea with her and say 'remember how you lost King's Men?' What a wonderful day that would be. It would certainly wipe that smug look off her pretty little face.

_Ha_.

* * *

The next morning Rumplestiltskin stood in the doorway of the library. Belle, who was unaware of his presence, leant over the game board. Her face was serious and her brow was furrowed. She was in deep concentration. Rumplestiltskin watched as she kept moving her hand to grasp a piece but then halted mid move. She was uncertain and confused. She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. In a low voice, practically a whisper, she said to herself, "I've lost."

Rumplestiltskin felt a surge of glee at her admission but at the same time he felt a measure of consternation at her sadness. Ignoring the latter feeling he left her to make her move.

Later that day, in the spinning room, Belle entered with tea and biscuits. He thanked her without turning but when she spoke he paused at his spinning.

"Thank you for playing King's Men with me, I've enjoyed it."

"No matter," he said, smiling to himself.

"It is a terribly difficult game," Belle said.

"Indeed it is, dearie."

Belle sighed and at the noise Rumplestiltskin turned and look at her defeated posture. Her shoulders were low and her face lacked her usual cheer.

"I always lost to Gaston," Belle said. "It's because I have a female mind – that's what Gaston said. I hoped just once I could beat a man at the game."

Rumplestiltskin tilted his head and let her words sink into his mind. "Your brain, female or otherwise is sharp. If you lose the game it's due to your opponent's experience. Nothing more."

She smiled slightly but her smile didn't touch her eyes. "I probably wasn't even a challenge to you."

_You were_, he thought but instead said, "No, not really."

His heart sank when she nodded in defeat and softly said, "Your move."

Belle's sad expression remained with him on his journey to the library. He stood in front of the board and saw the perfect opportunity to move his wizard into capture position. Yet his fingers hovered over the piece. Cursing himself and his weak nature Rumplestiltskin left the wizard alone and instead moved his ogre to a nonsensical place. Now with one move Belle would capture his king and win her first game.

Shaking his head at his own romantic nature he left the room feeling a keen sense of embarrassment.

* * *

The next day Belle and Rumplestiltskin entered the library together for Belle to complete the final move. He watched with a measure of pride as Belle grinned at the board and slid her silver knight into the capture position and triumphantly exclaimed, "Capture!"

The imp giggled and clapped his hands. "Well done dearie. Your first win."

Then she turned and gave him a look of absolute power that it made him shudder internally. She was suddenly different; her eyes were twinkling, her lips smirking and her body language confident. "My twentieth win."

"What?" he all but bellowed.

Belle grinned. "I've never lost!"

The imp spluttered, "You said…you lied!"

"I played the game. It's a strategy game and no-where in the rules does it say that the strategy must be confined to the board."

"You cheated!"

Belle shook her head, "No. You cheated! You cheated to let me win."

He stared at her, his mouth agape. She was either evil incarnate just very savvy.

"You," he said, stepping towards her menacingly, his finger pointing at her face, "you tricked me."

"I did," she said bravely. "All men cave. Feeling sorry for the poor stupid woman is every player's downfall."

He let his finger drop and instead moved his face closer to hers so they were inches apart. He studied her blue eyes and then declared, "Clever girl."

"Thank you."

He pulled away from her and giggled. "Naughty girl."

Belle gave him a playful smile. "What are you going to do about it?"

The imp felt a shiver of delight at her flirtatious words. Keeping his eyes fixed on hers he waved his hand over the board game – returning all pieces to their proper place.

"New game."

* * *

**AN:** The next chapter will be on the theme of marriage. If you wish the chapter to be T or stay at K+ please let me know. I will not alter the rating unless I have agreement.


	8. Chapter 8: The First Wife

_Thanks again for the reviews. It really is a massive inspiration. I appreciate every single one. Please continue to send me your comments and prompts. _

_I had quite a big response via PM and reviews about the rating change. I was never going to do anything extreme – it was one small dream sequence I wanted to add in that might have bumped the ratings to a T. To be safe and out of respect to my readers I have not added it. If you would like to read this scene please let me know and I can send you it. _

_This chapter is dedicated to my good friend Evi who wanted a fic that mentioned Rumple's first wife and ofc to my wonderful beta._

* * *

**Chapter 7: The First Wife**

"I intend to ask Belle to be my wife," Mr. Gold explained to Archie Hopper as he sat opposite him in his office.

Doctor Hopper, or rather Jiminy Cricket as he was better known, nodded thoughtfully. "That is a big commitment; how do you feel about that?"

"Ready," Mr. Gold stated firmly.

"What brings you here," the psychiatrist asked.

"I have been married before," Mr. Gold admitted. "In the other world," he explained, "before the dark curse."

Hopper nodded, "Go on."

"My first marriage was… not successful."

"What's your concern?"

"I want Belle to be happy. Marianne, my first wife, was never happy with me."

"Why do you say that?"

"She left me," Gold said without pause or misery.

"Do you fear Belle leaving you?"

Mr Gold paused before answering and when he replied, Hopper felt that the man looked extraordinarily vulnerable. "Always."

* * *

Marianne, it was said, was fated to be a spinster. She was the youngest of seven sisters in a village of few men. All her sisters married – some well and some not so well. The oldest sister, Clara, died at the hands of her husband, who struck her a little too hard the night she challenged him about his drinking. Mrila wed a stable hand who was timid and lived in fear of his wife. The other four lived unremarkable lives with farmers who ate well, drank moderately, and tolerated little fuss.

Marianne, by the ripe age of twenty four, was still unmarried – her sisters having taken every eligible man in the village. Typically, women married by fifteen in the town and were mothers by sixteen.

The oldest woman to have married in the town was Dorriana, who was practically dragged down the aisle at the age of twenty-two by her exasperated father.

So, Marianne, at twenty-four, seemed fated to be a spinster. It was a situation of great embarrassment. It was not that Marianne wished to marry, rather that she didn't wish to be considered unwanted.

The only eligible men in the village were Wilfur (who was fifteen years old and apprenticed to the miller) and Rumplestiltskin (the shy and reclusive spinner).

Wilfur was the first choice, but with an abundance of women being born in the village he had already caught the eye of two girls of sensible age. That left Rumplestiltskin, who had shown no interest in getting wed, or indeed, in women.

Rumplestiltskin spent his days on his own, mumbling pleasantries and keeping his own council. He had few friends to converse with and seemed completely socially stunted. However, he was single, had a home, and had as little prospects as Marianne.

Most importantly, he was lonely. That much was apparent. His loneliness was apparent every time he hovered outside the circles of friendship groups and watched the villagers with wanting eyes.

So, it was due to Marianne's desperation and Rumplestiltskin's loneliness that they married.

The engagement lasted a day and the arrangement consisted of few words.

"_I wish to marry," Marianne had said._

_Rumplestiltskin gaped at her and stammered his reply, "To me?"_

"_You're all there is. And I'm all there is. We can try to be happy together rather than miserable apart. Be a good husband to me, care for me, never beat me, and I will give you whatever you want."_

_He considered his options for a few short seconds before agreeing to his first deal, "I wish to be a father."_

Marianne consented and while she had little maternal instincts, she knew that birthing babies was one of her jobs as a wife. She agreed to that deal with little emotional investment.

* * *

Within two months of marriage, Marianne was with child and the arduous process of procreating could cease. Marianne expected the marriage bed to be a dull, painful, and lonely place for her, but she was surprised to find the same true for her husband. Rumplestiltskin seemed to show little passion or excitement and although he was a kind and gentle husband (as agreed), no love existed between them.

To their despair, they learnt a painful life lesson: two could be together and yet forever apart. They were as lonely side by side as they were before their marriage.

The birth of Baelfire was monumental for two reasons. Firstly, Baelfire inspired true emotion in the introverted spinner; however, Baelfire inspired little emotion in Marianne.

The labour was long and torturous. The child didn't move as expected and the town healer had to use sharp instruments to forcefully wrench the child from her womb. For the first two weeks of her son's life, Marianne was sickly and rested in bed. In that time her child was taken from her and presented to her husband. It was two weeks of bonding she could never replace. When her child was finally presented to her, the child seemed foreign and strange.

Worse, the child, as beautiful and peaceful as he was, refused to feed from her breast and grew restless in her hold. Marianne was faced with a son who didn't love her and a husband who showed little interest in her.

One day, during an argument in which Marianne screamed and Rumplestiltskin cringed she yelled, "You don't even care about me."

"You're the mother of my son, of course I care" he said softly, looking at her with pleading eyes. "Mari, please try to keep your voice down; you'll wake the boy."

"Tell me you love me," she demanded.

"You're my wife," he sighed.

He never said the words out loud. He never said 'I love you' and until the day she died, she believed he was incapable of saying them at all.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin loved Marianne as much as he could. He was contented with her. He didn't believe in romance and true love. Love – in the real world - was about loyalty and companionship. Anything else was the stuff of bardic tales. His heart didn't race when he looked upon the fair face of his wife, but he didn't believe that happened to anyone.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin sat as his spinning wheel and gently wove straw into gold. He smiled to himself as he heard Belle enter the room, the sound of tea cups clinking on the tea tray and the clicking of her heels on the wooden floor betrayed her presence before she spoke.

"Morning, you're up bright and early." Her voice was sunny and warm; he could hear the smile in her voice without turning.

She came close to him; he could sense her body close to his. A special electricity filled the air and when she placed her hand upon his shoulder his heart raced in his chest. "Tea?"

"Please," he said. He glanced up at her. She stood over him and all he could experience in that moment was the blue of her dress and the prettiness of her smile.

"How are you today, Belle?"

"Very well," she said as she poured the tea. "I finished that book I was reading."

"Oh? And did they all live happily ever after?" he teased, giggling at her.

Belle had the grace to look contrite. With a slight shrug and a wry smile she said, "Don't they all?"

He shook his head, enjoying her innocence and optimistic nature. He accepted his chipped teacup with a grateful smile, "What happened?"

"The prince chose the pauper's daughter."

"Very idealistic," the imp remarked.

"Not really," Belle argued. "The prince didn't like the pauper's daughter to begin with. He found her opinionated and believed she would make a terrible wife. They argued a lot."

Rumplestiltskin replaced his teacup in the saucer and asked, "Why did he choose her then?"

Belle gave the imp a pointed look, "For one very simple reason: you don't choose love, love chooses you."

* * *

"Why do you fear that Belle will leave you," Hopper asked, watching Gold's body language carefully.

Mr Gold shifted in his chair. Hopper noticed that the man looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable and strangely lost for words. Gold distracted himself by looking around the room. Finally he licked his lips and said in a soft voice, "I'm a coward and I've let her down. Like I let my son down."

"Are your feelings about Belle linked to your guilt over your son?"

"I repeated the same mistakes with Belle as I made with Bae."

"What mistake?"

Mr Gold shook his head. Unable to explain, he finally returned to his most famous and bitter line. "I'm a difficult man to love."

"And yet," Hopper said thoughtfully, "you have _True Love_. That's a rare and wonderful thing, Rumplestiltskin."

"True love is many things," Mr Gold mused wisely, "but it is not without its grief."

"It strikes me that anything worth having is not without grief."

Mr Gold gave a small nod and looked down at his hands clenched in his lap.

Sensing the man was retreating, Dr Hopper tried a new avenue of question. "When did you know you wanted to marry Belle?"

Mr Gold laughed then and shook his head, "A long time ago."

* * *

There was one very precise moment in the history of their time together that Rumplestiltskin looked at Belle and thought _I would take you as my wife, if you would have me_. This moment came in the middle of the day when a miscalculated potion caused a large explosion.

Belle had hurtled into the tower, her eyes wild and her chest heaving with shock. "Are you ok?"

Plumes of smoke, sickly sweet and lime green, flooded the room. Fearing for Belle, the imp quickly grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the room with him. They stood on the staircase, him watching her as she spluttered and coughed.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, his eyes worried.

"Yes, yes," she wheezed. "Are you ok?"

"Fine," he said dismissively, still watching her cautiously. "Why did you run in?"

Belle coughed again and took a deep breath. "Why? The noise of course! I thought something terrible had happened." She punched him lightly on his arm. "You must be more careful!"

"I would have thought you would be glad to be rid of me," he joked.

"Don't say that," Belle chastised. She looked at him, her eyes taking in his features with seriousness. Without warning, she reached out to touch his face. Her fingers traced a dirty green mark that stretched across his cheek. Rumplestiltskin held his breath and her soft fingers gently brushed his cool skin, leaving a trail of tingling warmth. "A smudge," she whispered, stroking his skin lightly, "all gone." Her fingers stilled at his cheek but didn't move away.

He was caught by the sudden and powerful desire to kiss her. The want of it rocketed through him, shaking him to the core. He didn't try of course, for she was too beautiful for the likes of him. So he stayed perfectly still, and drunk in her closeness like a parched man.

"Do be careful, won't you?" she asked in a murmur.

It was at that moment, with her hand against his skin and her caring words dancing in the air between them, that he thought _I would take you as my wife, if you would have me._

Her hand slipped away from him and she took a step backwards. The moment was gone, but as she walked away he made her a silent promise.

_I would love you forever._

* * *

From that moment Rumplestiltskin indulged in the fantasy – the fantasy of Belle being his wife. In their moments of silence and when she wasn't cleaning, he would pretend that they were like any normal couple. He would pretend he was without the curse and she was willingly his.

They would sit at the dinner table and he would look at her, and rather than see the caretaker, would see his bride. They would sit in front of the fire in the evening and watch the sun set and he would pretend that she was his to touch and hold.

Yet every evening he would retire to an empty bed; with the left side barren and cold the illusion would shatter.

* * *

"So, you knew in the other world?" Hopper said.

Rumplestiltskin nodded, "It was an illusion."

"An illusion you can now make a reality," the former cricket retorted.

When Mr Gold made no reply, Hopper asked, "What do you fear?"

"Losing it all…" Gold sucked in a breath, "again."

* * *

"I'm leaving you. I can't bear to look at you. You… you… you pitiful excuse for a man. You fled from a battle that killed your kin! You ran away! You are less than a man. You're a coward. A pathetic, running coward. I would sooner die than remain your wife," Marianne shoved her husband hard, sending him tumbling back a few steps, and smirked when he cried out in pain. His hand fell to grasp

his damaged knee.

"You deserve that you weak, selfish fool. You deserve it." Marianne grabbed her cloak and snidely added, "I'll be glad to be rid of you."

"Don't take Bae," Rumplestiltskin begged, his hand still clutching his bruised and deformed knee.

His words only enraged her. "You don't even care I'm leaving…"

"I do care…"

"Liar! Coward, liar and traitor."

"Please," he begged, "leave the boy with me."

Marianne gave him a withering look. "I love my son, but like his father, he never loved me."

"That isn't true Mari… You just need…"

She shook her head and raised her hand to silence him. "I was better off alone." A tear slipped from her eye. "I'll never return. Never."

* * *

"In the end I even lost Bae. My own fault."

Hopper nodded, remembering that bitter story well. "You lost your wife and your son and that is an enormous burden. Has Belle left you?" Hopper asked.

"Yes," he said, "twice."

Hopper nodded. "I see."

Mr Gold looked at his clenched hands and felt a rising sickness stir within him.

"And how many times has she returned?"

Gold looked up, surprised at the question.

Hopper leant forward and regarded the pawnbroker seriously. "Belle has left you Mr Gold. But what I think is most important in this story, is that she returned."

"She's the only one who has," Gold realised.

* * *

Mr Gold closed the door of his car and walked towards the house. He smiled at Belle, who sat outside on the steps reading a book. She grinned at him as he approached.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

As he stepped onto the first step, he felt the protective magical layer he had created to guard Belle welcome him in and seal behind him. He climbed the first three steps and lowered himself to sit next to her. "I went to the shop."

"I see," she said, giving him a sideways look.

"What," he asked.

"You look suspicious."

Gold gave her a wounded look and Belle laughed. "I hope you're not up to no good."

"Me?"

"Yes you!"

He placed his arm around her and pulled her into his side. "Belle, I'm going to ask you something soon and you have to say yes."

Belle chuckled and rested her head against his shoulder. "If it's within reason."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and fell quiet.

"When are you going to ask this mysterious question?"

Mr Gold squeezed her to him a little tighter. "When I'm sure you'll say yes."

She pulled back and gave him a curious look. "You are a strange man," she said with a soft smile.

He pulled her back to his side and rubbed her shoulder with his hand. "That I know, Belle."

They fell into a peaceful silence. Until Belle spoke, Rumplestiltskin was certain she had fallen asleep against him. "Just so you know," she said quietly, "when the time comes. I'll say yes."

The hand rubbing her arm paused for a fraction of a second before resuming. "I'll hold you to that dearie."

Belle smiled at the term. "I would have said yes way back then too."

Gold closed his eyes against the memory and the onslaught of emotions. Before he could say anything, she was pulling away and standing up. "I'll put the dinner on."

Her fingers ran through his hair and then she was gone, strolling up the steps and into their house.

"Don't waste too much time thinking," she said before the door creaked closed behind her.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin sat at his idle spinning wheel watching as Belle sat by the fire sewing a torn seam together on his favourite shirt.

"I don't know how you get these shirts into such a mess," she said, tying off the thread.

The imp shrugged and watched her snap the thread with her teeth.

"There you go," she said, holding out the repaired shirt. "Good as new."

"Thank you," he told her.

She hummed in response and then gave him a sly smile. "Sometimes I think you need a wife more than a caretaker."

His eyebrows rose at her words. "I have no need for a wife."

Belle chuckled and folded the shirt neatly in her lap. "A wife isn't needed, a wife should be wanted."

"Well," he retorted, feeling his heart lurch, "I don't want a wife."

Belle rose to her feet holding his silk shirt in her hands. "Maybe not today, but one day."

Feeling defensive, he glowered at her words and stubbornly returned to his spinning. "Doubtful."

* * *

Mr Gold chuckled at the memory.

_Maybe not today, but one day._

A wife. Not today, but maybe tomorrow.

He smiled to himself as he heard Belle clutter about inside the house.

Yes, yes, tomorrow.

.

* * *

**AN**: The next chapter will return to a pure flashback – so no Gold/Belle. Let me know if you are pro or against Gold/Belle in this series.

Please send me your comments and thoughts. Thank you.x


	9. Chapter 9: Rumplestiltskin and Gold

Thanks for all the reviews; I am always blown away by the positive response. I may have given up many chapters ago if it wasn't for all the constructive feedback – so thank you.

I will be writing the T rated dream sequence. Many asked for it but at the moment it is one paragraph I chopped from the last chapter. So, as a reward for those who asked, I will develop the paragraph into its own chapter and post it as a separate fic. I will let you all know when I've done that.

In regards to Gold/Belle opinion was unanimous- we want more Gold/Belle. So this chapter will feature them alongside the standard missing scene. Also, a reward for all the support, I will post an interlude chapter tonight– a short chapter about Gold and his jealousy. I wrote it because so many said they love the Gold/Belle scenes so it's purely them in chapter 9b which will come later tonight.

Keep the prompts coming!

* * *

**Chapter 9: Between Rumplestiltskin and Mr. Gold.**

His only customer had been Snow.

The fair beauty had marched into his shop, pointed her finger at the nursery mobile and claimed, "This is mine. I'm not paying for it. I want it back. Don't even try to come between me and my baby's things".

Mr. Gold had merely stared at the former princess and with a nod of his head conceded. "Take it Mrs. Charming."

"Oh I will," she said, trying hard to stay angry. "I'm not paying for it."

"As you said."

"Nor will there be any deal."

She placed her hands on her hips and gave him a hard look. In that second, even with her short hair, she was Snow White again, the fierce and spirited princess turned warrior. Mr. Gold sighed at her production, limped around the counter, retrieved the mobile and handed it to the woman.

"There you go, dearie. Is that all?"

Snow gaped at him and, just through holding the mobile in her hand, started to mellow. Her hard look dissolved into one of interest. "You've changed," she breathed.

"I have no idea of which you refer, Mrs. Charming. If you could be so kind as to leave, this is a business, not a charity."

Ignoring his mocking words, Snow leaned forward, as if to study him. As if he was the most intriguing of creatures. "You have changed!" Suddenly, she smiled and looked so very young. "I see it here, here, and here," she pointed to his eyes, his mouth and his chest. "You, Rumplestiltskin, are in love. Ain't it grand," she teased.

He battered her hand away and stepped away from her beaming smile. "Don't you have a twenty-eight year old to raise?"

Snow's face fell slightly at the reference but she brushed the jibe aside. "When you told me that love was a disease – you lied."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I was telling the truth."

Snow hummed. "The truth of the broken hearted."

"Quite."

"My husband told me that you had true love once that you were in love. My daughter tells me that the mysterious woman who resides with you is to be your wife. I wonder, Rumplestiltskin, if you have experienced a miracle. You have found your true love?"

Rumplestiltskin didn't utter a word; he limped away from her, towards the door, to hold it open for her. Very directly, he nodded to the door. A silent demand for her to leave.

Snow, clutching her child's mobile, walked to the door and paused before stepping out into the street. "You are not a kind man, Rumplestiltskin. You profit at the misery of others and you can be wicked and cruel."

Mr. Gold stared at her, his face a blank mask, his lips curled into a half snarl.

"I know you have a part in this curse. The very curse that snatched my child from me. But understand this," she said pressing forward, "love can never grow in the heart of evil. You will never be as wicked as you wish to be, so drop the act." She held up the mobile as if it were a trophy. "You are not as bad as you pretend to be. Thank you for the charity, Rumplestiltskin."

"Good day, Mrs. Charming," he ground out behind gritted teeth.

It was at this point, at twelve in the afternoon, that Mr. Gold shut up his shop and went home.

Sometimes he believed it was easier when he was the Dark One – feared and free of psychoanalysis. Now he seemed to be evolving into some sort of 'loveable villain'. The beloved town grouch. Belle would be dismayed, but he thought he preferred it when the likes of Snow White looked upon him with distain rather than understanding.

As Gold crossed the street he caught little Prince Henry waving furiously at him. "Hi Rumplestiltskin! Can I come over and see the Beauty from the story?" The tyke held up the fairy-tale book and grinned widely as he stood beside his birth mother.

Feeling a sudden urge to reclaim his image as sullen and unreachable, the pawnbroker ignored the child.

At his car he practically wrenched the door open and slipped inside, not before he heard Emma Swan say to her disappointed child, "More like Scrooge than 'The Beast'."

Like a soothsayer, the boy simply said, "He'll come around. In the end the Beast…"

Gold slammed his door shut before the boy dared try to conclude his story.

* * *

Gold sat on the bench in the garden watching Belle poke at the earth with a trowel. She dug up piles of dirt and turned the mud, prodding and poking at it.

"These bulbs should come out by winter and the whole garden will be filled with purple. I think purple suits the winter, don't you?"

Honestly, he wasn't listening. He stared at her as she sat on the ground wearing an apron over a floral dress, with her hair loosely tied up with a ribbon.

"Rumplestiltskin," Belle said, finally snaring his attention. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," he said and offered her a smile. "You look very beautiful today."

She chuckled and shook her head, she wasn't one for compliments. "Thank you, but I'm covered in dirt."

Gold noticed, for the first time, dark smudges on her skin and clothes. "The gaze of love," he said. "Blind to the many flaws of dirt."

"I see," Belle said with a teasing smile before returning to her gardening.

"So, why are you home so early?"

"Do you find life here banal?"

Belle gave him an exasperated look. "Banal? Mundane? Tedious? Would you prefer a war? Rumplestiltskin," she exclaimed, "after all the chaos and commotion and our years apart – you are actually going to tell me you are bored?"

"No," he said quickly, snapping out of his stupor. "Not bored." He struggled for the right words. "Belle, do you miss the Dark Castle?"

"Yes," she said instantly. She took a bulb from the pile beside her and gently pushed it into the ground. "I miss it; I miss our old life…"

"You miss him?"

"Who," she said, turning.

"Rumplestiltskin…"

* * *

"_Can I have some earth?"_

_Rumplestiltskin looked over to the door. Belle stood at the threshold of his laboratory smiling tentatively. The imp paused over the swirling black mass of his potion and said, "dearie?"_

"_Some earth? I want to plant some herbs for cooking."_

_He nodded distractedly. "Yes, yes, whatever you wish."_

"_So…" Belle said hesitantly, "I can leave the castle and go into the garden?"_

_The imp paused for a moment but then nodded. "Yes, don't leave the garden."_

"_I won't," Belle said quickly. Before she turned to leave she asked, "What are you making?"_

_Proud of his own accomplishments, the imp said, "This potion, Belle, will imbue any blade with the power to cut through the strongest of materials."_

_From her position in the doorway, she gave him an appreciative look. "That's awfully clever."_

_He giggled. "You think so?" he preened, pleased she found him so fascinating._

"_Oh yes, I think you are by far the cleverest man I have ever encountered."_

_He pointed his finger at himself, "Me dearie? Some might say I am – in fact – the smartest sorcerer in the whole world."_

_Belle giggled in reply. "Oh, without a doubt"._

* * *

Mr. Gold looked up at his true love and said, "I'm just a pawnbroker here, Belle."

* * *

"… _and this section here is Oolong tea." Belle said pointing to the tiny, budding plants._

_The imp looked between the neat lines of leaves to Belle's beaming face. "Six types of tea," he mused. "One for every day but Sunday. What shall we drink on a Sunday? Hmmmmm," He gave her a wicked look, "Ale? Mead? Wine?"_

_Belle laughed. "I think I shall not function well under the influences of such beverages."_

_The imp chuckled and moved his hands dramatically, "What is there to do on a Sunday anyway?"_

"_There's more to a Sunday than drunkenness!"_

"_Oh, do tell," he exclaimed pulling an exaggerated expression of interest._

"_Well, the Clerics suggest it's a time of spiritual reflection…"_

_Rumplestiltskin yawned heavily and rolled his eyes. "Oh to be drunk with mead than drunk with delusion. Which is better, Belle?"_

_She swatted his arm, "Drunk with neither."_

"_You'd make a becoming drunk," he told her, loving her scandalized expression. "Rather than tumbling off ladders you'd be tumbling off your own two feet." He giggled his manic, high pitched laugh. The laugh that unnerved and terrified so many. The laugh that had reduced women to tears and men to trembling sacks of flesh. The laugh that inspired disgust and hatred._

_Belle laughed back. "You're funny."_

"_Funny," he said, repeating her words with sudden seriousness._

"_Yes," she said, "you make me laugh."_

"_Is that so," he mused. "I have made maidens cry just by laughing…"_

"_I like your laugh… it's…" she sought the right word and concluded, "honest."_

"_Honest?" he repeated again._

"_It's the laugh a child would give, a genuine playful laugh. I like it," she said shaking her head as if she couldn't properly articulate what she was going to say. "It makes me feel…"_

"_Feel what," he asked, almost anxiously._

"_Feel…I don't know!" she laughed and blushed. "I just like it."_

* * *

"I don't sound the same…"

* * *

_Belle absently dusted the table as she leant against the wood, staring at her master. He was at the spinning wheel, bathed in sunlight. His skin shimmered a beautiful shade of tarnished gold and it dazzled her._

_She stared at him too long. His back tensed and he quickly turned to catch her in the act. He glared at her, his defenses up and snarled. "Looking at the beast with scales, dearie? Does my hideousness both revolt and fascinate?"_

_Belle gasped, her hand dropping the duster. She quickly ducked to grab it from the floor. "No, no… I just… in the sunlight… you… glisten. It's," she bit her lip and stuttered, "pretty."_

_He stared at her._

_Nothing was said for a long mile, so long, that Belle started to fidget on the spot and could feel beads of sweat prickle the back of her neck. He had never stared at her for this long and never with such a blank look on his face. He was unreadable._

_Finally he said. "Glisten?"_

"_Like the gold you spin," she said, biting her lip._

_He stared at her once more, his eyes burrowing into her as if searching for the lie._

"_You," she said softly, as if not trusting her own voice, "are not hideous but you are fascinating."_

* * *

"I don't look like the man you fell in love with…"

"Rumplestiltskin," Belle said, pushing up from the ground and moving to stand before him. He bowed his head and looked up at her from under his long hair. "Nothing has changed about my feelings for you. I love you as much now as I did then, maybe more. More," she mused, "because we lost each other and have found each other."

"I'm very different Belle."

She reached out and stroked his hair, her fingers running through the greying strands. "You aren't any different. Not to me. Maybe to the outside world, maybe in appearance. Not to me." She tilted his head up and stared into his brown eyes; they were different in hue but the same soul radiated through. "There are a million reasons why I love you and yet none at all. Can I list things about you I love? Yes. But the truth is there is not one nameable thing that I love. I just love you. What makes you you? Is it the content of your heart? Is it the workings of your mind? Is it the presence you have? Or if it's in that unfathomable entity we call the soul? I don't know. What I do know is that whatever face you wear, whatever voice you adopt, whatever mannerisms you offer – I love you. You can change, but that never, ever will."

"Why?" he breathed.

"Magic," she whispered, pressing her lips gently to his, "the most powerful of all."

"I never believed you could love me then. I never believed that you could love me like that. Now, I wonder what you see in Mr. Gold."

"I see you. The man I love. Do you believe it?"

He stared into her eyes, so blue and so awash with emotion. "I do…"

"But…"

"You could do better…"

"Better than true love?" she exclaimed, stroking her thumb over his cheek. "Now you be careful, you're about to insult the man I'm in love with and I'm pretty feisty. I'll tell you off."

He chuckled and pulled her down into a kiss. "Well, I wouldn't want that."

"Please, believe," she whispered against his lips.

"Stay," he mouthed against her, their lips brushing over each other's, "convince me."

"I will, forever."

He smiled against her lips and then kissed them.

A loud series of knocks broke them apart with a sigh. The knocks were rapid and excited. Belle gave her lover's shoulder a squeeze before walking into the house to open the door.

Mr. Gold heard the sound of footsteps march through the house; Belle's and the light tap of someone else's. She opened the screen door and stepped out into the garden. "Darling," she said, "this young lad has come to pay us a visit."

Gold turned in his chair to see Henry standing slightly behind Belle, clutching his book to his chest. The boy wore a nervous but excited smile.

"Hello Rumplestiltskin," Henry said, his young mouth tripping over the many syllables. "I met Belle," he said, nodding to the woman.

"Obviously," Gold retorted.

"You left town real quick and I wanted to talk to you so I came over on my bike. I have a new bike. My mom- my _real_ mom - got me a bike. It's green. Anyway, I wanted to show you something." He opened his book at precisely the right page revealing a beautiful picture of Belle and Rumplestiltskin. "It's your story."

Gold leant forward in his chair and Belle leant over the boy; they both stared at the title page. In the hand drawn image Belle and the imp stood in front of a large mirror, covered by a patterned cloth, the imp stood behind Belle, his hands on her waist and his eyes closed as he lent into her body. Belle's mouth was slightly parted and her cheeks delicately rosy. Above the image the story was titled: Beauty and the Beast. Gold remembered the scene well and felt a familiar rush of emotions.

Belle also remembered the scene and had the innocence to blush slightly while simultaneously giving Gold a heated look.

"So," Henry said, "I have a few questions..."

Gold sighed. "I'm not an encyclopaedia."

"No," the boy said, "you're the most powerful sorcerer in the world. You're Rumplestiltskin," he exclaimed with awe. "You're the beast! That's so cool. I never could work it out. But then you moved Belle in and I just knew that you had to be the beast as well!" To Belle he said, "You're really pretty."

Belle smiled. "Thank you, but Rumplestiltskin was never really a beast, you understand."

The boy nodded. "Yeah, it's just the title because he was mean. I get it."

Despite his mood, Gold felt his lips twitch into something resembling a smile. "One question…"

"Five," the boy countered.

Belle chuckled at that and said, "I believe a deal is to be made."

Taking the bait Henry nodded. "Five questions and in return I let you read your story…"

"I lived the story, Henry," Gold said. "I don't need to read it."

But the boy… that clever, sneaky boy… instantly glanced up at Belle who – as he expected – suddenly gushed, "Oh I do! I wish to read it! Deal!"

Gold shook his head. "Belle… the deal was between…"

"It's struck," she said firmly, imitating his voice from their first deal. She even copied his hand gesture.

"Fine," Gold groused. "First question."

"In this picture," Henry said, pointing to the embrace, "why were you hugging?"

Gold narrowed his eyes. "How old are you?"

"Ten."

Gold scoffed. "You wouldn't understand. Next question."

"But…" Henry stammered…

"Because," Belle said, taking a different approach, "I was about to remove the cover over the mirror, see," she pointed to the image. "Rumplestiltskin stopped me."

"Oh," Henry said, "because of the Evil Queen."

"That's right," Gold confirmed.

Henry glanced at the image again, noting the way Rumplestiltskin's face was tilted towards Belle's hair and his eyes were closed. "Why did you need to smell her hair? Did you love her? Then?"

"Next question…" Gold groused.

"Oh, I don't know," Belle mused. "I would like the answer to that myself."

Gold pointed to her, "You know the answer to that!" To Henry, he answered all three questions in a row, "That's none of your business, yes and yes. One question left."

Henry pursed his lips and thought hard. "Why didn't you believe she could love you?"

For one so young, Gold was struck by his maturity. Belle too had stopped smiling and regarded the child seriously.

"Because," Gold said, clearing his throat, "I'm a difficult man to love."

Belle shook her head and was about to challenge his statement when Henry surprised them both by saying, That's not true."

"Sorry?" Gold questioned.

"The Beauty loved you really easily. Like from page two! She loved you without any difficulty -even though you were kind of mean." The boy glanced up at Belle. "That's right isn't it? From page two?"

Without looking at the book, Belle nodded, her eyes bright with emotion. "That's true."

"I think you were scared," Henry said boldly. Before Gold could interject, Henry quickly added, "That's ok, because we all get scared. Even the best sorcerers in the world get scared. Even my granddad said he got scared when my grandma was put to sleep by the evil queen. We all get scared. The important thing is that you aren't scared now – right?"

Belle regarded her lover with interest, for the first time in a long time she had no idea how he would react. The boy had struck some painful chords and spoke freer than anyone – except her -had ever dared. Belle hoped Henry reminded her lover of Bae and the hurt he would experience at that moment wouldn't bubble into anger.

"I'm not scared now," Gold said, glancing away from the boy to look at Belle.

"That's good." Henry said. He handed Belle the book. "Can I come over and play sometime? Do you like hide and seek?"

Belle patted his hair. "I love hide and seek, come over tomorrow after school if you wish."

"Cool," Henry said. "I've gotta go. Bye Belle, bye Rumplestiltskin." The boy ran back through the house and a few seconds later they heard the front door slam.

"Well…." Belle said.

"Give me that book," Gold said, leaving his chair and reaching for it.

Belle held it away from him, behind her back. "Why?"

"I want to see what's on page two…"

Belle squealed when he lunged for her and for a good four minutes they wrestled over the book before she finally conceded and let him see the passage. Gold sunk back into his chair, one hand on his knee, massaging the wounded joint, and the other hand tracing the lines of page two. Finally he triumphantly exclaimed. "I won."

"Won what?"

"I had feelings for you before page two."

"It's not a competition! And anyway, you didn't," she said, laughing.

"Yes, yes, I did. I can prove it." He pointed to a line single line and grinned at her.

The line read: _The price is her._

* * *

Please review! Stay tuned for the interlude chapter 9b tonight!


	10. Chapter 9b: The Courting of Belle

As promised here is the interlude chapter featuring Belle/Gold. Just a bit of fun.

Chapter 10 will be pure Belle/Rumple in FTL and will focus on Belle's escape attempt.

Chapter 10 was going to be the conclusion but I'm enjoying writing so if you feel there is room for me to continue and you would like to read more let me know. I'm sure I can dig up other plots to follow lol!

* * *

**The Courting of Belle**

**Henry**

Little Henry Mills, now Henry Charming, had given Belle a daisy he had handpicked on his class field trip. The child had knocked on the door of their home and shuffled out of nervousness. In his fist he clutched the pathetic looking flower and handed it over to Belle with a boyish grin, lopsided and hopeful.

The damn kid was braver than the Dark One had ever been in the presence of Belle; he stood there and boldly declared: "It reminded me of you. You're pretty, like the flower." He held it up to her, "See?"

Standing by the stairs Gold had glared at the boy as Belle expressed more delight over the wilting plant corpse than she had over those shoes he got her last week. Shoes that cost as much as Granny's weekly rent. Shoes which came with a ridiculous name and were delivered in a box covered with ribbons and frills.

Prince Charming Jr it seems was courting the True Love of Rumplestiltskin, right in front of his nose.

And doing a better job.

* * *

**Jefferson**

The Hatted Hero talked to her in the street. Gold watched from his shop as Belle, dressed in a white dress perfectly symbolic of her innocent and purity, conversed with the idiot in the wonky top hat. The idiot who wore makeup and had, as Belle said, "An edge".

Edge.

Rumplestiltskin had the ultimate edge – he was the Dark One.

The Hatter had a hat. What was the big attraction?

He watched them talk. Belle seemed sympathetic to whatever line the fool was giving her. Her head was tilted showing that she was listening intently and her hand rested upon the man's sleeve.

Later, Belle told the pawnbroker that Jefferson was still unable to connect with this daughter. That would have appeased Gold if she hadn't added "So I'm going to visit him for tea tomorrow. We'll have a proper talk".

Why couldn't they talk in the street?

* * *

**Dr Hopper**

Belle saw him once a week. Gold paid him an additional extortionate amount to be on call for her whenever she needed. Dr Hopper's number was on speed-dial directly under his own.

Belle spoke to the man about everything: her capture, her father, her life in the other world, Regina, _them_.

Gold always waited in reception for her and was always perplexed when he heard the beautiful melody of her laughter from behind the closed doors.

He wondered what they were discussing. What would make Belle laugh in the way he thought was reserved solely for him?

As he groused in his chair a voice sounded next to him. "Laughter is a good sign, it's better than crying!"

He turned to look at the speaker – it was Ruby, the wolf girl. No doubt visiting Hopper because being a beast was a massive emotional inconvenience.

"Sorry, Dearie?"

Red Riding Hood nodded to the door, "At least she isn't crying. If I were her I would cry…" Gold raised his eyebrows at the implication and the girl gasped and suddenly retracted her comment. "I don't mean because you and her… no… I mean, if I had been locked up for that long, by Regina, I would be really sad. I'm sure she's really happy with you and… well… I wouldn't cry if I… you seem…" the girl sighed. "Whatever."

Gold cleared his throat and asked casually, "Do you laugh in your therapy sessions?"

Red looked down at her body, as if seeing her beastly appearance instead of her scarlet jeans and white tank top, and sighed "No, what's there to laugh about?"

Indeed.

* * *

**Dr Whale**

Belle was clumsy, in this world and the last.

She had burnt her wrist on the iron (and scorched his shirt in the process). She had been left with a livid red mark on my pale skin. Of course, Gold overreacted and took her to the hospital. They didn't wait in the waiting area and they didn't sign in. Belle was to see the doctor – now.

It was at that point Dr Whale kindly informed him that cold water would have been the only prescription necessary.

That wasn't so bad. The worst part was the doctor telling her that it wouldn't leave the faintest mark on her "pretty skin". This was after he had complimented her on her lovely dress which Gold knew was code for complimenting her on her gorgeous, bare legs.

The man was so transparent.

* * *

**Peter**

The final straw came when a tall, lean and blonde Adonis strolled into the pawnshop. A sandy haired, pretty boy who introduced himself as Peter. The lad couldn't have been more than seventeen but was muscular and tanned. He had a youthful grin and an air of playfulness about him that made him seem younger than his years. He was looking for a thimble.

As Gold scattered a collection over the counter he saw the boy look over at Belle who was sitting on a chair reading a book. Peter's blue eyes seemed to smile as he stared.

Gold slammed his cane on the floor to grab the boy's attention. "Pick," he said, pointing to the thimbles.

The boy plucked a battered one from the collection; it was a nice piece with a small W carved onto the metal. "This one," he said. Then he leant forward to whisper to Gold, "That girl over there… is she…"

"She's mine," Gold said firmly. The boy blinked and frowned and Belle looked up from her book with a gasp. "She's involved with me," Gold added. "She isn't single, she isn't available for tea nor does she need any flowers. Belle, who is a _woman_ by the way and not a _girl_, is taken."

Belle looked furious; he could see her stammering and flushed out of the corner of his eye. The boy went from shocked to bemused.

"Mate," the boy said, "I was going to ask if she was reading about the Land that Never Was."

Gold glanced over at Belle who instantly held the book up so the title was visible: _The Land that Never Was_. She wore a look of consternation on her face. Looking back to the boy, Gold ensured his expression was passive. "It seems so."

Peter grinned and then gestured to the book. "It's a good story. A great adventure."

Then he left, clutching the thimble in his hand like it was the most precious thing in all the world.

"Well, that was quite a show," Belle said slamming the book shut and giving her lover a hard stare. "What on earth is going on with you today? You practically threw Archie out of here this morning and then told little Henry that we are too busy for him to stop and chat. Busy? We are never busy."

"Dr Hopper," he stressed the title, "was loitering, not shopping. Henry needs to go to school."

"It's Saturday."

"Belle…"

"Incidentally, Peter looked to be about fifteen!"

"He was in his twenties!"

"He was barely fifteen!"

"Enough," Gold demanded, holding up his hand. "Discussion over."

Belle shook her head, "It most certainly is not, Dearie."

Gold gaped at her. The word 'dearie' floated in the space between them, both comical and tragic. His word, used by her. Pretty yet insulting.

"Explain it to me, so I understand…" Belle stood up, placing the book on her chair. She approached her lover and stroked his arm. "Tell me, just be honest. We have an honesty deal, do we not?"

"The town seems to be courting you my dear."

Belle made a sound that sounded something between understanding and surprise. "I see. Well, I don't think little Henry and I will work out due to all the homework. Anyway, I think I remember finding my true love and promising forever so…"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, bringing her into a side hug. "Belle I wish…" He breathed the words against her hair.

"What?"

"I wish I had courted you…" he muffled his voice against her hair, almost as if he hoped she wouldn't hear the words. "I should have given you flowers, made you laugh, complimented you…courted you."

Belle brought him into a proper embrace and tilted her head up to look at him. "You did. In our special way, we went through all that. You just don't remember the good times."

"Were there really good times for you Belle?"

"Oh yes," she breathed with true emotion.

* * *

"_Who was that?"_

_He held a rose, one he handed to her with a flourish. "Just an old woman selling flowers. Here, if you'll have it."_

_She accepted the rose with a delighted smile and lowered herself into a curtsey. "Why thank you."_

* * *

"_New dress?"_

_Belle glanced down at the new blue housedress she had found in her wardrobe. "Seems so. Do you like it?"_

_His eyes flickered over her so quickly she almost missed it. He looked away. "Very nice. Suitable. Good for working. Nice. Lovely. Yes… lovely."_

* * *

"_Why do you spin so much?" she asked from atop the ladder. "Sorry it's just that you've spun straw into more gold than you could ever spend."_

_He paused his spinning. "I like to watch the wheel, it helps me forget."_

"_Forget what?"_

"_I guess it worked."_

_She laughed. _

* * *

Gold smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair. "We did have our moments, didn't we?"

"Many moments," she said. "And we'll have many more."

The bell above the door jangled as the shop door opened. Still in her lover's arms, Belle smiled at the visitor. Dr Whale offered up a shy wave and just as he was about to speak Gold barked, "Closed."

Belle sighed and shook her head, burying her face in his chest. "Oh, Rumplestiltskin…"

"Get out," Gold said, loosening his arm around Belle to point to the door. "Out."

Despite herself Belle shuddered with giggles and hugged him closer.

"Gaston was bad enough," Gold said as the door slammed closed behind the retreating form of Dr Whale.

Belle tilted her head back to look at him. "I haven't seen Gaston in Storybrooke. Whatever happened to him anyway?"


	11. Chapter 10: The Escape

Hi all, sorry for the massive delay in posting. Real life has really hit me hard this month so I've just been too busy to write anything. Also, my email was hacked and subsequently blocked so that was a massive problem. Hopefully this will make up for it. It's a prompt on the deleted escape scene Jane told us about on the Skin Deep commentary.

Thank you to everyone who continues to review, favourite and follow. It means a lot.

I always intended on writing 10 chapters, however, if you would like me to continue please let me know. I was thinking of putting missing scenes in the new episodes of season 2 so there is room for continuations.

I haven't forgotten the T rated chapter... that will come soon.

**Prompts**: Belle escapes from the Dark Castle, Dove, Gold/Belle domestic scene.

* * *

**Chapter 10: The Escape**

Belle lay on her stomach admits a sea of tousled, black sheets. Her bare back was warmed gently by the sunlight which streamed in from the window as the hour slowly slid to nine o'clock. Her brow furrowed slightly as the bright, natural light, shone upon her face, but her mouth remained softly smiling. Her arms hugged her pillow and her chestnut hair curled around her in wild waves.

Mr. Gold watched her from the doorway as he fastened his maroon tie over his purple shirt. His eyes were soft as he gazed upon the slumbering form of a woman who his heart and soul had named as his true love.

He was late for work; he knew this with little alarm. The clock, which rested on the nightstand, forewarned that shop should already be open and his presence was required elsewhere. Yet Gold remained in the doorway, watching his lover slumber peacefully. The urgency he previously felt about attending work had dissipated; his lunch times were longer, his working days shorter and his mind consumed (not with deals) but with Belle.

Belle.

Always Belle.

His house was theirs now. _Theirs_. She was everywhere and every trinket was a constant reminder of her presence in his life. In their wardrobe his suits had been joined with rows of skirts, dresses and blouses. She had drawers full of her frilly undergarments, stockings and socks. The bathroom now smelt faintly of pomegranate and passion fruit shampoo and the soaps were now pretty colours and shapes rather than bland blocks. Her toothbrush had joined his and her hairbrush rested next to his comb. Next to her side of the bed fluffy slippers waited for her to awaken, as did a small pile of books. Her shoes had their own rack and she even had a stack of hat boxes ready for the winter month.

Rumplestiltskin took great pride in what he gave her, allowing no expense. She had the best - the very best. While Belle had no concept of American currency, he took pleasure in knowing she strolled the streets of Storybrooke wearing an outfit that equalled most residents' monthly rent. He couldn't erase the past but he would overindulge the future. With every purchase he said sorry; she was unaware of it – he was not.

Mostly, he loved the fact that with every purchase his house became fuller. They now had different brands of tea, bagels instead of plain bread and candy bowls purely for her. His rooms smelt of her perfume and he constantly returned home to find her cardigans resting over the arm of the couch.

Belle didn't deter his spending and for that he was grateful because for thirty years all he had was a teacup and now he had a rack of shoes and scented soap. He had a life. He had her.

Moving to the writing desk, Gold slowly penned a letter with flourished lettering and an easy stroke. The pleasure he experienced in simply scrawling her name was unexplainable. In a short paragraph he wished her a good day, but between the lines he whispered of his love for her and as he signed his name he meant every word profoundly:' Yours, R.'

Folding the letter, he walked to Belle's side; casting a shadow over her previously sun kissed features. Gently leaning down, he slipped the letter under the pillow she clutched and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear.

As he walked down the stairs and through the house he wandered through daylight. Even here she had brightened the place. The house, now a home, was no longer dark and gloomy, it was alive. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass of the door, casting the hallway in an array of primary hues and for the first time since he had moved in he recognised the beauty of it.

Before Belle had returned, he couldn't wait to leave to leave the house – the emptiness had been crushing – now he couldn't wait to return. As the door quietly shut behind him he allowed himself to smile at the morning. Even though he missed her already the image of her peaceful in his bed stayed with him even while time continued to slip away.

* * *

Standing behind the counter in his shop, Gold looked out at the cluttered expanse. So much of his collection had returned to their rightful owners but still so much remained. The large ornate clock ticked loudly and slowly and, despite the fact he had lived the same day for twenty eight years, this morning seemed to drag like no other.

The bell over his door tinkled with artificial merriment and a gust of fresh air followed the girl in. Gold smiled brightly at her and felt the boredom of the day suddenly eased. Belle wore a navy blue skirt and a baby blue blouse. Colours which were designed to tug at his heart and conjure a million ancient memories. Her high heels clicked as she walked and made her hips sway in a way that was utterly enchanting and distracting.

"Morning."

"Morning," Belle said with a bashful smile. "I got your note."

He nodded and smiled. "I didn't want to wake you, you were sleeping so peacefully."

Belle walked to the counter and leaned over it, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "I would rather wake up to wish you goodbye." Belle tilted her head and gave him a playful grin. "Did you miss me?"

"Yes," he said simply and easily. "But, something strikes me as amiss," he mused.

Belle instantly knew what he meant and bit her lip, trying to keep her face impassive.

"You're on your _own_." Gold said, dragging the word out, "Where, pray tell, is Dove?"

Belle tried her best to look baffled by the question. "Oh, sorry, what?"

"Dove, the man I pay to keep you out of harm. Where, oh where is he? Or rather, where have you left him?"

"Ah, well…"

Gold's mood started to evaporate. "That man is useless; I'll employ someone else and relocate him."

Belle gasped, realising she had inadvertently harmed Dove's – rather limited – career. "No, no. He does a good job. I just..."

"…Stroll around Storybrooke unprotected."

Belle shook her head, "I'm fine, the streets are always full of people. I won't suddenly disappear." She leant forward again to smooth her hands over his warm, crisp shirt. "Besides I've always had a talent for escaping."

They both remembered her three aborted attempts to flee the castle during the first week of her stay.

Gold barked a laugh. "Talent? You were caught every time!"

"Yes, well, on the third occasion I made it to the Northern gate, _and_ opened it," she said indignantly.

Gold scoffed, "On the third occasion I let you."

Belle gaped at him, "You let me? Why?"

Gold raised an eyebrow and said directly, "To see if you would actually go through with it."

Astonished by the revelation Belle just shook her head at him. Gold smiled slightly and behind the soft eyes and the easy smile Belle could see the imp she fell in love with and all the pain and insecurities that came with him.

"But, I didn't go through with it," she said.

The imp within suddenly brightened. "No, you didn't."

* * *

Morning had broken over the mountain tops; she could just about see the spluttering of dawn from the tiny window in her cell. Her master never appeared until the sun was high and her stomach was rumbling. However, that morning things were different. Past her tiny window she saw a beautiful white dove dart by. Seconds later her cell door swung open and in the doorway stood the Dark One.

"Hello," she said, trying to smile.

"Word has come," he said simply, striding away from her.

She chased after him, following him through the sprawling castle and up the twisting stairs to the top of the tower.

"Stay," he told her, like she was an errant pet he was trying to train.

Belle loitered in the doorway, casting a curious eye around the laboratory. The smell was heady, smoky and not at all unpleasant. The dove she had spied suddenly flew in the large window and perched magically on the imp's outstretched hand. As Belle admired the beautiful bird from a distance, Rumplestiltskin gently retrieved a tiny note fastened around the bird's foot. Abruptly, the dove dashed away and was soon climbing towards the clouds. Rumplestiltskin unravelled the note and read with a dramatic and pleased tone: "The war is over! Victory is ours".

With a bright and wide grin, the imp turned to his captive. "You're welcome."

"The war is over?" she asked, checking the information as it slowly trickled into her brain.

"That's what it said," he mocked, waving the paper at her. "So, there. It's done. You may prepare our breakfast and bask in your glorious sacrifice."

Still struggling to absorb the news, Belle nodded and ducked out of the room. In a daze Belle retreated to the kitchen, made the breakfast and slowly trudged back up the stairs. By the time she entered the spinning room and placed the laden tray on the table Rumplestiltskin's words had finally taken root in her brain.

_The war is over._

The cell, the imprisonment, the dank dungeon, the constant fear of him losing his temper, the isolation…all were unnecessary now.

_The war is over._

Feeling her heart thud painfully in her chest, Belle turned to glance at the door. _The war is over. The war is over._ Belle felt desperation and bravery swell within her – the war is over… and so was her imprisonment. Without giving her action much thought she darted towards the double doors, running through them as they swung open to let her pass. Then she was in the hall and sprinting across the small space, her heeled shoes slipping slightly as she hurtled towards the large, ornate front door. She pushed the double doors open to reveal the sun drenched gardens and the encompassing perimeter walls. Eyeing the far gate she sprinted across the threshold and…

… found herself in the spinning room. She wasn't on the path or in the garden or indeed outside. She was in the spinning room. Bewildered, she halted and stood impotently next to the table, right next to the breakfast she had just placed there.

"Going somewhere?"

She cringed at the familiar, high pitched tone and turned to face him. He sat in his chair, eating his breakfast and looking at her with a calculating gaze – like how a predator viewed its prey.

"I erm…"

"If you lie to me it'll be the last words you speak," he flatly promised and she didn't think for a moment he was lying.

"You'll murder me?" she gasped.

"Oh no," he said, smiling. "I would no sooner murder you than set fire to my Golden Fleece. I take care of my pretty things. I will however remove your voice box if you dare to lie to me," he hissed the last word, his eyes ablaze.

"I was running away," Belle said quickly. "I was running away because the war is over and you keep me in a dungeon."

To her shock, the imp laughed. "I keep you in a dungeon, dearie, because I fear you may," he gestured in the air, "run away." He fixed her with a hard look. He flexed his fingers and gave her body a cool glance over. "Humans, women especially, cannot be trusted. I cage you because, dearie, you are in want of a cage." He stood up and stalked towards her. Belle fought to stay still and did not allow herself to be intimidated and step backwards. He raised his hand and for a horrible moment she thought he might hit her but then she saw his fingers tremble as they reached forward and gently stroked her cheek. Belle held her breath and looked deep into the inhuman eyes of her captor. "Maybe," he breathed, caressing her skin, "I should turn you into a statue. Preserve your beauty and anchor your feet. Hmmm?"

Swallowing hard, Belle replied, "It is my job to run as it is your job to try and keep me here."

Rumplestiltskin abruptly dropped his hand from her face. He narrowed his eyes and said, "Oh?"

"I'm supposed to try and escape. I'm not your wife, I'm your prisoner."

A fire suddenly ignited in the imp's eyes. "If you were my _wife_," he spat the word as if the term was abhorrent to him, "I think perhaps you would try more valiantly to leave." He licked his lips. "We may not be wed, dearie, but the agreement we have is more binding. I don't have you for the rest of our lives. I have you forever." He leant forward so his breath brushed her skin. "A deal is a deal."

Belle nodded. "I did make you a deal. It's not that I intend to break it but…" she sighed, "it's instinct to try and run. Surely?"

"Don't speak of instinct in front of a beast, dearie, or I may show you the instinct of a monster."

"You're not a beast," she tried.

He glowered at her and travelled back to his seat and looked down at his breakfast. "Don't lie to me. You've been warned."

"It wasn't a…" before she could finish the sentence she found herself falling into the hay that lined her cell. The light from the tiny window was now diminished as the sky grew cloudy. Belle sat on the floor and sighed.

* * *

The second the girl was gone Rumplestiltskin threw his dinner plate against the wall and in a sweeping gesture sent his cutlery and wine glass tumbling off the table.

He was a fool to believe _something_ was growing between them… a friendship… a tolerance. She wanted to leave. She wanted to escape.

Just like his wife.

But Belle had something his former wife didn't – a cell, a lock and a sorcerer to stop her.

He smiled bitterly. Belle would be with him forever.

Whether she wanted to be or not.

* * *

Belle ate from the plate that had magically appeared next to her; the food was warm, simple but good and carefully prepared. She wondered how long he would keep her in the dungeon for. She felt guilt niggle at her depths of her stomach but as she ate her dinner she reassured herself that any respectable maiden would try to flee.

What kind of woman would she be if she submitted without a fight? She wanted to be brave.

Brave women fought back.

* * *

By morning a teapot and a teacup arrived for her; the water remained hot as the hours passed and when the sun was high and her stomach started to rumble breakfast arrived. This time she didn't feel a measure of relief at his care for her, she felt a shiver of fear – was she going to be left here forever? Would she be a prisoner for all eternity, stuck in a cell with only a food tray for company?

Belle stood up and walked towards the cell door and yelled for her captor: "You have to let me out. Hello? You can't leave me down here!"

When the dinner plate arrived hours later Belle ignored the offering and approached the door again. "I'm just letting you know that I'm going to try and escape this cell. You've left me no choice. I'm giving you a warning!"

Belle waited for a few minutes and when no answer came she glared at the door and started to plot.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin, of course, heard her threat. Despite sitting before his spinning wheel, he heard her words as if they had been directly breathed into his ear.

He had lived hundreds of years without company and yet after only two days without her presence he felt lonely.

His wounded pride and the anger he felt over a broken deal had dissolved.

He wouldn't say he missed her, but…

But, maybe it was time he allowed her to re-join his life.

Could he blame her for running? He was a monster and she… she was beautiful and perfect.

Did it matter if she ran?

Perhaps not. She could run and run and run and he would pull her back each time.

He was a monster and that's what monsters did.

* * *

It wasn't the best plan but she couldn't think of any others. She had dragged the wooden frame of her straw covered bed over to the tiny window, stood upon it and used her dinner knife to scratch away at the brick. She had made quick work of it already, her arm ached with the effort but she had dug a little trench around the bars and to her delight one rung was starting to wiggle.

"Have you given any thought to how you will fit through that tiny gap?"

Belle gasped and turned, seeing Rumplestiltskin leaning casually against the wall inside her locked cell. He glanced up at her with interest and a small smirk. His mood was calm… his demeanour relaxed. He almost seemed to be a different man and Belle wondered what had happened to him over the last two days to alter his mood.

However, his charm was redundant – he had locked her up. Refusing to grovel, apologise or whimper, Belle instead carried on digging her little trench around the bars – as if he wasn't even there. "I'll fit through."

To her shock and dismay, the imp dragged his eyes slowly down her figure and said, "I sincerely doubt it." He lifted his hands defensively to still her ire. "If, however, you manage to fit your delectable curves and layers of material through that small slit, please enlighten me as to how you plan on surviving the fall?"

Belle placed her knife on the window ledge and frowned. "There is no fall, we're in the dungeon."

"Ah," the imp said, giggling, "I took the liberty of moving the dungeon. It's now in the tower. The fall is… shall we say… substantial."

Belle raised her eyebrows. "You moved the dungeon?"

"Yes."

"Yet you won't use magic to clean?"

He gave her a bemused look and smiled slightly. "I'm a complicated man."

Belle scoffed and then chuckled. She hopped off the bed to stand in front of the Dark One. "Would you like some tea?"

Pursing his lips and giving her a careful look the imp nodded and allowed the cell door to magically open.

"Thank you," Belle allowed as she hesitantly stepped past him and out of the dungeon.

He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement and a strange ease befell them as they walked together through the castle.

"Sorry for…"

"Forgive the…"

They spoke simultaneously. Neither was prepared to finish their sentence so they let the apology remain incomplete. Instead they smiled at each other and when they reached the hall they parted amicably. By the time Belle had brought the tea to the spinning room Rumplestiltskin was already weaving straw into gold… as if nothing had ever happened.

* * *

A few days after Rumplestiltskin had begrudgingly showed her around the garden Belle approached him as he spun at his wheel.

"I was wondering…may I go into the garden and fetch some flowers for the table?"

"Flowers?" he asked.

"Yes, for the table. To brighten the place."

"The Dark Castle does not wish to be '_brightened'_" he twisted the word into a giggle.

"Ah," Belle said sadly but nodded anyway.

"You like flowers?"

"Roses are my favourites," Belle said.

For a long moment the only sound in the room was the creaking of the wheel. Then, Rumplestiltskin surprised them both by saying, "Don't take long about it. And remember," he added with a serious tone, "we have a deal."

Belle nodded. It had been nearly two weeks since she tried to escape her cell and while she felt her actions were justified she felt a measure of guilt over trying to break her part of the bargain when Rumplestiltskin had kept his. "Yes," she promised, "we have a deal."

"Off you go then," he waved her away, dismissing her.

Belle grinned and hurried towards the door, completely missing his smile.

Holding her basket over the crook of her arm, Belle traipsed around the garden taking small clippings from the biggest bunches of flowers. Contented, she wandered down the long paths taking a sample or two as she walked. Soon, she found herself at the walled perimeter where the roses grew in abundance: beautiful red roses with sparkling thorns and deep green leaves. Belle followed the line of roses until she found herself faced with black roses which had wrapped themselves around the bars of the Northern Iron Gate. Ignoring the gate and not even realising how close she was to freedom, Belle snipped a few stems free and placed them into her full basket. However, as moved to leave the sleeve of her cloak caught on the thorns and as she wrenched herself free the gate creaked open a fraction. Just a fraction, but enough for Belle to suddenly realise that she was inches from freedom.

Suddenly ultra-aware of the possibility of escape, Belle stared at the parted gate and felt her heart rate increase. It would take seconds for her to slip through the gate and seconds for her to dart into the forest and then… she would be free.

Belle bit her lip and closed her eyes. Her mind begged her to run; it pleaded with her and frantically urged her. _Leave, go, run. The deal was unfair; no-one can ask for forever. Run._

Yet, her heart reminded her of her deal and the tentative bond that had grown between them. With a shake of her head Belle grabbed the gate and pushed it closed.

She wouldn't run. Maybe it was braver to stay.

Maybe one day he would be brave enough to let her go and then she would walk free with her heart and her head at peace.

It would be better to earn her freedom.

With a sigh, Belle turned and walked back to the castle, unable to sense the invisible presence of her master as he walked next to her with a look of astonishment on his face.

* * *

In the pawnshop Belle rested her elbows on the counter and smiled at her love. "What would you have done if I hadn't stopped? What would you have done if I had gone through the gate?"

Gold shrugged. "The gate would have repelled you anyway. You weren't going anywhere." He didn't apologise for the admission, nor look guilty. "We had a deal."

"Indeed," she said. "I am sorry I broke it."

In a familiar, ancient gesture, that reminded Belle of her beloved imp, Gold used an elaborate hand gesture to wash away her fears. "No matter. What sane girl wouldn't try to run? Hmm?"

"I came back then, I came back from town and I came back from – my much exaggerated death. I'll always come back."

Gold pointedly looked at the chipped teacup which now stood pride of place in the large glass cabinet. "And I will always wait."

Belle thrust her hand out suddenly, waiting for his to shake hers. "Deal."

He chuckled and grasped her hand and shook it firmly once. "Deal."

Moving around the counter, clutching his cane, Rumplestiltskin moved towards the front door, giving Belle a playful tap on the bottom as he passed. Switching the sign to 'closed' he held the door open for her.

"Lunch my dear?"

"That would be lovely."

They walked down the road, her hand in his just as Dove came jogging around the corner panting and desperate.

"Sorry…" he wheezed, sweat drenching his t-shirt. "I …she… just… got away from me."

Gold sighed, "Don't take it personally; she's escaped the most powerful sorcerer in both realms."

"The Queen?" Dove asked, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to get his breath.

"_Me_," Gold ground out, insulted.

"Although I did escape from the Queen too," Belle added.

Squeezing her hand in his Gold led her towards Granny's.

"Are we going for lunch?" Dove asked.

"_Belle and I are_," Gold corrected. "You're going to collect the rent."

Both Belle and Dove looked surprised at the change of plans.

"I'm not to guard the Mrs anymore?"

Belle rolled her eyes at the term.

"No," Gold groused. "Clearly it isn't working out," but his glare – as half-hearted as it was – was reserved for Belle who merely smirked.

"Right, ok, boss," Dove said looking slightly relieved.

As Belle and Gold wandered into Granny's, Belle kissed his cheek. "Thank you, I never wanted a guard."

"You're having a guard," Gold promised her, ignoring her expression of displeasure, "as soon as I get my hands on a dragon."

"Good luck with that," Belle teased.

He smiled at her. "Thank you, my dear. So, tell me about your day…"

* * *

Thank you again for all your reviews. Please take a moment to comment if you wish. Let me know if you're interested in S2 missing scenes. x


End file.
